Plot? What Plot?
by InterNutter
Summary: Chapter 15 is up! *Fi*nally! Rated for some language. Bunch of unrelated tales joined together by their distinguishing feature - no plot! Oh, and lots of the Elf.
1. Part the First: 5 Seconds After the Came...

Disclaimer: Theirs is theirs. Mine is mine. This is mine, with bits of  
theirs. Thank you for not stealing mine :)  
  
Summary: A bunch of PWPs with very little connecting them except my own  
twisted imagination.  
  
Archiving: Email cat@devil.com and ask nice :) Comments can also go to  
this address :)  
  
Coding info: Since fanfic is wont to turn up on web pages, I've  
deliberately avoided anything to do with greater-than or less-than  
signs, because they tend to screw up HTML something chronic. Hence;  
asterisks (*) denote emphasis, underscores (_) thoughts or italics,  
curly brackets ({}) sound effects and square brackets ([]) foreign  
languages. I refuse point blank to codify accents, as it winds up  
reading like lousy spelling :) I have enough trouble with that as it is.  
  
From the Author: Since there's no actual *content* in any of these, I  
decided to do them up as chapters. This does not mean that they're  
necessarily all the same story. In fact, technically speaking, there's  
no story at all :) Just silliness.  
  
Plot? What Plot?  
(Or: Don't Give The InterNutter Too Much Sugar)  
  
InterNutter  
  
Part the First: Five Seconds After the Cameras Stopped Rolling [The  
sequel to _Adrift_ ]  
  
Everyone had pretty much stopped laughing at Kurt and his feminised  
holoprojection. The Elf himself had turned back to the mirror and was  
examining "herself" with a speculative look.  
"You know, this isn't too bad. If I wanted to sneak into the girl's  
locker room, I think I could possibly pass."  
"Kurt..." warned Jean.  
"Except the lipstick. That's really not my colour."  
"Dude," said Scott. "You're creeping me out here, pal."  
"What do *you* think?" Kurt turned back to them, gesturing at his  
face. "This colour's just *way* too slutty on me. I think I'm more of a  
coral..."  
"All right," sighed the Professor. "You've had your fun. Hand over the  
watch."  
"Nein, that is not fun," he turned back to the mirror and bounced up  
and down, ogling the holographic breasts. "*This* is fun."  
"This is just *too* strange," Jean complained.  
"Heh heh heh. No bra."  
"Ewwww..." Scott covered his face. "*Ku-urt*..."  
"Bouncy bouncy bouncy..."  
"*KURT*!" Yelled the Professor.  
He theatrically undid the watch and handed it back to the Professor  
with an equally overacted sigh and left the room.  
"Professor?" asked Scott. "Could you do us all a favour?"  
"Yes?"  
"For the love of God; never, *EVER* do that again!" 


	2. Part the Second: Fun Fun Snow

Part the Second: Fun Fun Snow  
  
"All right! It's snowed again! Who's up for a no-powers snow fight?"  
There was no answer, of course. Very few people were up at dawn. The  
few that were, weren't talking to anyone until they'd had their coffee.  
"Might as well get started, then," Kurt said to no-one in particular,  
and dived out into the white mass. Literally.  
  
Later...  
Kurt grinned. He'd been digging tunnels for quite a while. It was  
about time someone showed up. He fired the first volley, only to have  
his target phase to avoid getting hit.  
"Hey! Using your powers is *cheating*!"  
He was answered by a speeding snowball, which he ducked. He scurried  
to another manhole and fired another round. This time, he hit.  
"So what was that, you blue fuzzy cheater?"  
"I had lots of perparation time!" He scurried to another location to  
shout, "I also made snowballs for everyone else. Only you have to find  
the stashes first."  
One of his patented slushballs zinged past his ear.  
"You also have to learn how to throw!"  
"You little--! I'm'a whup yo' ass!"  
Too late, he was already somewhere else. Lining up another victim. He  
got a slushball right on Jean's neckline.  
Pretty soon, it was the entire institute versus the elf. He always  
liked those sorts of odds. A true swashbuckler never cared about the  
number of his enemy, only that they were there, and he had the wits and  
power to fight them.  
  
Scott had set up hasty snow fortifications with a little 'cheating'  
from Bobby, but they were still getting plastered. Kurt, wherever he  
was, was apparently able to tell when someone activated their power on  
purpose, and would subsequently pop up out of nowhere and pummel the  
offender with slushballs.  
"Are we *sure* he isn't teleporting?" Evan asked for the umpteenth  
time.  
"Elf's playing by his own rules," Logan, immune to the cold, was lying  
on his stomach and staring fixedly at the snow. "I'd smell him 'porting  
in a cold second in this weather."  
"I'm gonna skin him alive," said a distant voice. Ray. He was still  
using his powers, but they were about as effective as nailing gellatin  
to the ceiling. "You hear me? I'm gonna skin you alive for a *rug*,  
goddamnit!"  
{Thwap!} He was hit, yet again, in the back of his neck.  
"Then I'll chop up your mangy corpse into a million pieces!"  
{Thwap! Thwap, thwap, thwap!}  
"Then I'm gonna stomp on all the bits!"  
{Thwap, thwappitty, thwap, thwap! Thwap! Thwap!}  
Kitty, despite herself, giggled. "Shave and a haircut? Fuzzy's been  
like, watching too many 'toons..."  
"Ray!" Scott called out. "Don't use your powers! It only makes it  
worse!"  
"Screw you, Summers. I wanna toast this freakboy!"  
{Thwap!}  
"God damnit!"  
Amara sighed. "This is going to go on all *day*... Why don't I just  
*melt* the snow and ruin the peasant's game?"  
"You tried that, remember?" said one of the many Jamies. "He had  
iceballs ready for you the second you fired up."  
Amara pouted. "They were slushballs by the time they *hit*. Brrrr...  
Stupid peasant."  
"Salutations!" Chirped Hank McCoy as he knuckled out onto the snow.  
{Thwap!}  
"What the--?" He turned to face his assailant, only to have another  
slushball {thwap!} into the back of his head.  
"Hank! Down!" Ordered Logan. "That's the Elf's way of inviting you to  
'play'."  
"Oh, *ho*..." Hank grinned. "That must be why young mister Crisp is  
swearing and shooting at trees."  
"That's it," said Jean. "I don't care if I get hit for it, I'm  
knocking Ray out before he hurts someone."  
"Even if it's Kurt?" asked Rahne.  
Glare. "Even if it *is* Kurt."  
"Damn."  
{Thwap!}  
"I'M GONNA BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR MISSHAPEN BODY YOU STUPID FRE--  
(unk)." Thud.  
A slushball zinged right past Jean's nose. That wasn't bad aim. That  
was a warning shot.  
"We," announced Rogue, "are going to need a strategy."  
"I vote we tie Ray to a tree," said Roberto. "He's gonna be *pissed*  
when he wakes up."  
"Seconded," said Kitty. "All in favour?"  
All the Jamies said, "Aye."  
Scott did a double take. There had to be at least forty of them.  
"*Geez*... How many times were you *hit*?"  
"Uuuuummmmm..."  
{Thwap!}  
Logan started to swear. He'd been hit right between the eyes.  
"We are *not*," announced Scott, "tying Ray to a tree. We all know  
what happened the last time."  
"It wouldn't have if we picked a bigger tree," said Sam. "Or maybe one  
of them boulders."  
"*No*. We just need a plan."  
"Yeah. Like, Kurt has to have one. I mean he's like, popping up all  
over the place and we like, never see him running."  
Hank, meanwhile, had reached the fort. He had Ray draped over one  
shoulder. "Has it occurred to anyone that we're currently above four  
feet of snow?"  
"And *collecting* half a foot from the fuzzball," growled Logan. "So?"  
"When he runs on all fours, our teutonic elf measures a mere foot and  
a half."  
"You mean - he's gone *underground*?" said Scott.  
"Yes!" shouted Kurt from somewhere out in the white expanse. "They  
finally *get* it!"  
*Then* there was a shower of snowballs. He got everyone, including all  
the Jamies. Again.  
"I'm--" {Snikt} "--going to *kill* someone..."  
{Thwap, thwap, thwap!}  
"No po-wers!" Kurt sang.  
"I vote we tie Wolverine to the same tree. Or rock," said Rogue.  
"Seconded," said Rahne.  
"Aye," said about seventy Jamies.  
"We're *NOT* tying *anyone* to *anything*!" yelled Scott, who stood to  
emphasise his point.  
{Thwap!} A slushball hit him right between the eyes.  
"I mean, we have to teach someone a *lesson* first."  
  
It was quiet. *Too* quiet. The kind of quiet that had a nefarious plot  
running behind it.  
_About *time*,_ thought Kurt, _I was starting to get bored firing at  
stationary targets._  
He trotted through his tunnels, eyes closed and night senses open,  
searching for his teammates. Ah. There were two of them. Ray and one of  
the Jamies. Kurt readied a powderball for Jamie. There were more than  
enough of him around, right now. He'd probably get into trouble if he  
reached more than a hundred of him.  
He sprang upwards, arms ready to fling snowballs, and lunged facefirst  
into a wall of water.  
He dropped his snowballs and ducked back into the tunnels, gallopping  
away. Hoses weren't cheating. Technically. They were using their wits  
instead of their powers at long last.  
Had to keep moving. It was his only chance of not catching a cold now  
that he was drenched to his skin.  
  
"BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! DROWN, YOU STINKIN' RUG! DROWN!"  
"Ray?"  
"You're going down, blue-butt! You hear me! Down in a screaming heap!"  
"*Ray*..."  
"We're gonna *WIN*, damn you! MWA-HAHAHAHAHA!"  
"*RAY*!"  
"...huh?"  
"Calm down will you? Those tunnels will take hours to fill."  
"Aw *shit*..."  
"At least you made him miserable. And with luck, we've got a sheet of  
ice in a few of them."  
  
Ten Jamies were staking out one of Kurt's manholes, a slushball by  
each hand. By sheer luck, the blue elf popped up.  
"Fire!"  
{Thwappitty, thwappity, thwappity, thwappity, thwappity, thwap!}  
Even *with* their rotten aim, they hit him more than a few times.  
Unfortunately, they also hit each other.  
There were now fifteen of them.  
"Damn," they said.  
  
_Damn it. The swashbucklers always *win*. We have debonair charm and  
style on our side..._ Though it *was* hard to be debonair when one's  
sodden underwear was threatening to creep into places where it shouldn't  
aught to go.  
"AUGH!" There was ice underfoot. Even his legendary grip couldn't keep  
purchase on the slick surface. He skidded all the way down to his  
iceball factory - aka the hole in the lake ice where he dipped  
slushballs to make them Magma-proof iceballs.  
There was no way to stop.  
{Splash!}  
Kurt scrambled out, digging an impromptu access way up to the surface.  
He did *not* need a second bath and - judging by the complete absence of  
hose prints nearby, Bobby had been cheating.  
"There he is! Get him!"  
Kurt lurched into a gallop as the snowballs started flying. No time  
for finesse. Just duck, dodge, dive and pray like mad that he could  
reach the next-nearest manhole in time.  
Large blue hands seized him in mid-jink.  
"Gotcha!"  
Kurt managed a nervous grin as the X-men approached. "Heh. I guess  
that's game, right? Since I'm already soaked, you can't do that much  
more to me, ja? Friends? Uh... Ray? Vas ist you doing with that rope?  
Ray? You're not still sore about the slushballs are you? Ray?"  
  
"...nonogetawayfrommeAAAAUUUUGGGHHH!"  
Storm had to smirk at the blood-curdling scream of someone having snow  
shoved down the neck of their clothes. Sounded like the games were over,  
for this morning. She'd got the last of the breakfast stuff ready just  
in time, and there was no need to call anyone in.  
Laughter heralded their approach, and Storm winced at the  
proliferation of Jamies. A few dissolved into fog as she watched, which  
meant that there would soon be only one. She hoped. Thank goodness the  
Professor was able to lay his hands on a few hundred army blankets  
before the snow set in.  
Evan was singing, "We won," over and over to the tune of Auld Lang  
Syne while everyone else was laughing.  
They were wet, ruffled, and in some places scratched, but they were  
exhuberant and they didn't care.  
"All right," she said when it seemed they'd all assembled. "Who was  
your snowball fight against? The Brotherhood?"  
"Ha! We *wish*."  
"We were just up against one troublesome fuzzball," said Hank.  
"Speaking of whom... where *is* he?"  
"Heh heh heh heh heh..." said Ray.  
  
The flagpole kept hitting his head, resonating with a faint {bong}  
each time.  
"Gu-uyyyyss..." Kurt called. "It's freezing up here! This isn't funny  
any more. Guys?" He sighed. He was wrapped in rope, from his shoulders  
to his feet, and only that because Ray had needed the rest of it to hang  
him upside-down from the flagpole.  
Okay. They'd obviously left him to his own devices. Wonderful. He  
tried to wriggle, only to discover that Ray had tied him tighter than a  
drum. He could, just barely, inch his way out of his wrappings each time  
he let out his breath.  
Well, any plan was better than none.  
The snow piled itself away in a pathway nearby, letting a little  
avenue open for the Professor.  
"Kurt, what on Earth are you doing up there?"  
He grinned down at him. "Oh, just hanging around. You know me."  
Sigh. "I'll get you down, just give me a moment."  
"Don't trouble yourself Herr Professor. One more and I'll be free-  
EEEEEEEEEE!" {Pof!} He hit the snow headfirst. "Well," he said, muffled  
by the snow. "At least I'm down..."  
"Why didn't you teleport?"  
Kurt picked himself up, shaking snow from himself. "Haven't had  
breakfast," he sighed. "And I spent too much energy digging all those  
tunnels this morning." His nose itched. _Oh great..._ "Hee... hahh...  
HAT-shoo! ...oooohhhhh... Verdammt..."  
  
"Go on inside. I'll talk to the others."  
"Nein, Professor. I started it. I got everything I deserved, ya?  
Haaahhh... HAT-shoo! HAT-shoo! HAT-shoo!"  
"Inside. Now."  
Sigh. "Jawohl. I know. Get cleaned and dry before coming to anyone's  
defence..." He slouched off, leaving the Professor shaking his head  
behind him.  
Charles Xavier wheeled himself back indoors, only tisking at the tiny  
puddles that were Kurt's tracks. At least they were headed upstairs.  
There were times - times like this, for example - when he had to wonder  
if he could really *handle* so many young mutants at once. 


	3. Part the Third: O Tannenbaum

Part the Third: O Tannenbaum  
  
"...Wie oft hat nicht zur Winterszeit, Ein Baum von dir mich hoch  
erfreut..." Kurt sang under his breath as he finished brushing his fur.  
Yes, he was fully aware that it was about a week before the American  
holiday of Thanksgiving, but that was the time when none of the stores  
were interested in making Yuletide profits. It was the perfect time to  
go Christmas shopping - or, in the case of Kitty, Chanukah shopping.  
He had everything prepared, heck, he'd been saving since last  
Christmas for this. This year, it was going to be *perfect*.  
Kurt bought out his shopping list from it's hiding place and, just  
like Kris Kringle, checked it twice. Yes. He *did* have everyone. Good.  
Kurt folded it back up and placed it with absent-minded precision on his  
dresser. He crossed the room and dug into the back of his closet,  
hauling out the big jar he'd been saving his money in. It was one of  
those jars traditionally seen in how-many-gumballs-are-in-the-jar  
competitions, only half of its volume was taken up by change, and the  
other half was practically bursting with wads of dollar bills.  
It represented an entire year's worth of secret economies, little  
chores and, Kurt had to admit, diving into gutters for discarded  
pennies. He should definitely be able to afford everything with *this*  
lot.  
Kurt placed the jar on top of his list, ready for that afternoon. His  
plan was, as soon as he got home, to dump his books from his bag, stuff  
the jar in, and take off to get everything on the list.  
Well, okay, maybe he'd stop into a bank to get the verdammt heavy  
change counted first.  
Whistling Christmas carols as he went, Kurt headed down towards  
breakfast. He never thought to lock his door, in fact, he didn't even  
close it properly. It never crossed his mind that the jar would prove a  
temptation to some.  
After all, his friends wouldn't steal from him.  
  
That afternoon...  
"Kurt, could you like, *stop* singing Christmas carols for like, five  
consecutive seconds?"  
"Okay, Katzchen. Just for you."  
Sigh. "At *last*..."  
"Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel..."  
"AAAUUGH!"  
Kurt kept on laughing, right up until the moment he opened his door.  
The jar was empty.  
Nothing else was disturbed. Hardly a thing had been touched, except  
the jar.  
Which contained two fragments of paper and a nickel.  
  
Jean almost didn't notice Kurt in the kitchen until he sighed. There  
was a very morose looking elf, almost hidden behind a giant glass jar.  
He was playing with a nickel, making it spin like a top.  
"What's up?"  
"Someone took my Christmas shopping money," he said. "All I have left  
are two IOU's and a nickel..."  
Now she felt scummy. "Okay. It's no big deal. Here," she fished a note  
out of her wallet and shoved it into the jar. "There's the ten bucks I  
borrowed, back." She went back to drinking her coffee.  
"Jean..." he was still sad. "I had ten *thousand* dollars in there."  
Her mouthfull of coffee wound up decorating the fridge. Kurt helped  
her into a chair and patted her back until her throat was clear.  
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have waited."  
"How--" Jean coughed again. "How in blazes did you get ten *thousand*  
dollars?"  
"Saved it."  
"In a jar."  
"Ja."  
"And the IOU's?"  
"The Professor borrowed twenty dollars in change, and Kitty needed  
five dollars for lunch." Kurt sent the nickel spinning and sighed. "So  
much for the perfect Christmas..."  
"Kurt, it's *Thanksgiving*."  
"I know. It's just that all the things I wanted to get for everyone  
aren't so expensive right now."  
Now she felt *really* scummy. She should have known the elf wouldn't  
save up that much money for just himself. Jean emptied her wallet into  
the jar. "I know it isn't what you had, but it's a start, right?" She  
smiled in an effort to cheer him up. "I'm gonna go and beat up Scott for  
you, 'kay?"  
Kurt watched the nickel roll to a stop. "Scott? Why Scott?"  
"Because I know for a fact he had two hundred bucks he didn't have  
yesterday."  
"Oh." A pause while he picked up the nickel and sent it spinning  
again. "Maybe he couldn't find paper to write the IOU?"  
"Maybe he's just a big jerk," Jean snarled as she stormed out.  
  
Scott saw Jean and had his force ten smile on in a microsecond.  
"Jean," he said, remaining chipper in an effort to get that frown off  
her face. "Want to go out to the movies? I can get us into those luxury-  
class cinemas you always wanted to see. My treat."  
{Whack!} she slugged him on the jaw. "You mean *Kurt's* treat, you  
dirty thief!" She had him in a very painful half-nelson in a matter of  
seconds. "You give that money back to him right *now*, or I swear I'll  
tear your arm *right* out of its socket!"  
"Okayokayokayokay.... Uncle! I give up! I'll give it straight back, I  
swear!"  
Jean let him up with a simple, "That's better."  
Scott flexed his shoulder. "Ow... I didn't think you'd get so bent out  
of shape about this. I mean - two hundred bucks. Like he was going to  
miss it with that much cash in the bottle..."  
"Scott, sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know that?"  
"What? What'd I *do*?"  
Jean showed him, and she was in no mood to be gentle about it.  
"*OWWW*... *Jean*..."  
"I'm *not* sorry. You deserved it."  
"Okay. Consider me a recruit to the cause." Scott lead the way into  
the kitchen and emptied his wallet into the jar. "There's the money I  
owe you. Plus a little interest."  
His eyes flicked up, briefly. "Danke." Then he went back to staring at  
the spinning nickel.  
"Jean explained it all," said Scott. "Don't worry. We'll get your  
money back, and then some."  
"It's not about the money," sighed Kurt. "It's about the perfect  
Christmas."  
  
Logan was more interested in the can of soda than whatever was bugging  
the elf. He just wished the boy would stop twirling that damn *coin*  
around. It was getting annoying.  
{twirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrllrlrlrlrlrl...tink}, then the faint {ch-  
swip} of it being picked up again before it was sent spinning.  
"Elf," Logan warned. "You're starting to tick me off with that."  
"Sorry." He reeked of defeat, sorrow and loss. "Someone took all my  
Christmas money."  
Logan, who'd borrowed some after the other kids had nearly finished  
raiding it, shrugged it off. There hadn't been that much in the jar when  
he saw it. "So learn to lock your door."  
Silence. Blessed, divine silence.  
Then the muffled sounds of someone trying not to cry and failing  
miserably at it.  
Logan ran his hand down his face. _What *now*?_  
Kurt had only stopped playing with the nickel because he was crying  
his little yellow eyes out.  
It wasn't that he exactly *disliked* the elf; heck, he was one of the  
few people around here whose words matched his scent. Sure, there was  
the odd, boneheaded move in an attempt to make others like him, but that  
was typical teenager stuff. Background noise, as it were. It was just  
that fuzzboy - well - smelled funny.  
Humans smelled one way, animals smelled another, and that, until Kurt  
crossed his path, had been that. Now there was a big blue "except"  
walking around and messing with Logans instincts.  
Just like right now.  
His scent was practically *screaming* out, "help me" to the world at  
large, just like Logan's more animalistic instincts were screaming,  
"strange, don't trust". A third part of him, the thin civilised veneer,  
just saw a weeping child.  
"Aw, *hell*..." Logan sighed, sat beside him and put a tentative hand  
on his shoulder. "What'd I say wrong?"  
He should have known better. Any question to a teenager in that state  
just opened the floodgates for a stream of barely intelligable babble  
and, Logan cringed at the thought, more crying.  
His ears, being more sensitive than others, were able to pick out more  
words than anyone else. Apparrently, in the world of Kurt, locks were  
used by people who didn't trust anyone. If he didn't trust anyone, what  
was the point of having friends? And he'd been planning this Yuletide  
since the last one and things were just *so* unfair and he didn't want  
to lose his friends. He didn't want to wreck Christmas. Or Thanksgiving,  
for that matter.  
_Half the mansion steals ten thousand dollars off the kid and *he*  
doesn't want to spoil anyone's holiday. Gotta love how that mind works._  
"FYI, kid, I needed a hundred bucks 'cause the garage don't take  
plastic. I *was* gonna pay you straight back."  
Nod. Whispered, "I never said you weren't."  
Too damn trusting. Kid was going to have his heart broken again and  
again if he didn't wise up. "Way I figured it, you've earned yourself  
some interest." Logan started emptying his wallet.  
"It isn't *about* the money," Kurt sniffed. "It's about broken trust."  
"Kid, if you ain't bent out of shape about the cash, the friendship'll  
heal. Trust me on this. You'll be over it soon enough." _I *hope*..._  
Logan got up and made to leave before the elf could break up again.  
Behind him, he could barely hear Kurt whisper, "It isn't about me,  
either." He picked up the nickel.  
Logan headed for the Danger Room. He *needed* to break something  
replaceable, right now.  
  
Jamie narrowly avoided running straight into Logan by stopping on his  
toes and winmilling his arms to stop him falling. There was one thing  
his mutant 'power' *had* taught him, and that was how to avoid being  
accident prone.  
"Logan!" He said breathlessly. "HaveyouseenKurt?  
Igottafind'im'causeIdidsomethingterribleandIgottamakeitbetter (gasp)  
andIgottagoseeKurtright*now*!"  
"Kitchen," said Logan, and mumbled something unprintable about a  
nickel.  
Jamie broke into a run, hoping and praying that Kurt was still there.  
Oh heck. He looked mad. Jamie had practically hidden from the blue-  
furred boy for his first week at the institute. He *did* after all, have  
a knack for making people mad at him, and Kurt looked just the sort to  
avoid making mad at all costs. Then he'd found out that Kurt was just as  
shy and quiet as he was - kind of. Only with a little bit more  
confidence because he could actually *do* things instead of screwing up.  
"KURT!" Jamie practically screamed out of relief that he was still  
there.  
Kurt shrieked and ducked under the table. Then he identified who had  
yelled and came back out. "Whoops," he laughed. "Old habit."  
"KurtI'msosorryI'llneverdoitagain," he said, getting his facts  
established in the first breath. "OnlyEvansaiditwasokayand *he*  
tookawholelotbecausehesaidhesawScotttakesomeandthenhesaidhowyoumusta--"  
"Jamie," Kurt interrupted. "Slow *down*. Mein English is not that  
good."  
"I'msorryI'msorryI'm--mwfl..." A fuzzy hand covered his mouth.  
"Slow. Down."  
"I'm sorry," Jamie panted. "I thought I had to appologise real fast  
before you got mad at us or something."  
Kurt sighed and offered a seat. "I don't get mad," he soothed. "I get  
morose."  
"Okay. I didn't *wanna* take it, 'cause it's stealing and everything,"  
Jamie pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket. "Only we all heard Evan  
in your room and we came to see what the noise was about and he was  
digging through your jar? He said it was okay 'cause *Scott* took some -  
he'd seen it - and you only left stuff out in the open to share  
*anyway*. He said he was taking some for novelty value and it wasn't  
*really* stealing if we planned to give it back, and everyone was taking  
some, and I guess I just wanted to fit in. I didn't even count it to see  
how much I had."  
Kurt was just watching him. No comment, no judgement, just patience.  
Jamie put the money back in the jar. "I felt really sick about it all  
*day*... It felt so bad I wanted to cry. You're not mad are you?"  
Kurt shook his head. He even had a little tiny smile on his face.  
"Nein, kleiner Bruder. Not at all."  
Another thing about the Institute, sometimes it taught things that  
were never intended to be learned. Thanks to Kurt, Jamie was picking up  
some of the more unsavoury corners of the German language, as well as  
some stuff he could actually use in mixed company.  
"Climbing what?"  
"Kleiner Bruder," Kurt corrected. "It means, 'little brother'."  
"You mean that?"  
"Of course. I've got nothing but sisters at home. Always wanted a  
little brother."  
Jamie grinned until his face threatened to crack. "All *right*!  
Wait'll I tell the others! Hey guys!" He took off at a run.  
  
Kurt had to smile at the boy. He was always so - entheusiastic - about  
his emotions. Had he ever been like that? Probably. There was even a  
suspicion that he still *was* like that.  
Well, if he could forgive Jamie for wanting to be like the others,  
maybe he could forgive the others and work his way up to Evan. Evan  
*had* lead the others into it, after all.  
But then, Kurt had left the money out in the first place, and Evan,  
being Kurt's friend, knew his habits. It wasn't often that Kurt left  
anything of his on public display. He was a neat kid, made that way by  
the fur.  
Nothing like a fur coat to make you really *sensitive* about dirty  
things and, therefore, mess.  
Ergo, he didn't leave anything out unless he intended for it to be  
used.  
Such a pity his best friend took that as an open invitation.  
Kurt picked up the nickel and sent it spinning again. Round and round  
and round...  
Just like his thoughts.  
  
Evan crept as quietly as he could towards Kurt's room. So far, so  
good. There was no sign of the 'crawler here, either. Just as well. He'd  
hate to have to explain this to him.  
Or anyone else for that matter.  
It was his stupid fault for putting a thousand-dollar bill right up  
against the glass in the first place. If Evan hadn't seen it, he  
wouldn't have wanted to hold it. Or see what else he had in there. Or  
get caught by the new gang just as he'd got out a sampler.  
_Quit stressing,_ he told himself. _All you gotta do is put things  
back the way they were. No big deal. I just have to talk the other kids  
into it. Just like I did before. No big deal. Just be *real* quiet and  
don't make waves. Don't get caught._  
He nudged Kurt's door open. Cool. No-one was there. He made a break  
for the dresser, only to discover it was empty.  
_No big deal. No big deal. Just act nonchallant and try to find out  
which way he went. No big deal. Chill. Calm. Nonchallant. Think. If I  
were a blue fuzzy mutant with a big-ass jar full of cash, where would I  
hide?_ No help there. The answer was irrevocably, 'wherever I wanted  
to'.  
"Chill, man," Evan whispered to himself. "It's not a big deal..."  
"Not yet," said a voice behind him. Rogue. "But then, we ain't got  
started yet."  
_Crap._ He turned, hands held up in surrender. The gang was all there.  
Scott, Jean, Rogue, Aunty O. The new kids. The Professor. Logan. Mr  
McCoy... All glaring at him.  
"Icanexplain..." he said.  
{Snikt} "You don't have to explain it to *us*, Porcupine."  
They frog-marched him downstairs and plunked him down in front of  
Kurt, who was apparrently trying to get the answers out of the Universe  
by spinning a nickel. Repeatedly.  
"You have to explain it to *him*."  
_Oh crud..._ "Hey... Kurt. Buddy. Fancy meeting you here. So what's  
shaking?"  
Kurt picked up the nickel from where it had fallen and set it spinning  
again. He was in one of his famous only-Kurt-can-do-that postures;  
leaning on the table, chin barely clearing the table top. One knee  
currently higher than his shoulder, the foot clinging to the chair with  
all three 'toes'. That included the sort of dewclaw-looking thing he had  
out the back of his ankle joint. The other leg kind of wove itself into  
the chair legs. Knee around one leg, ankle hooked around the one behind  
it, and two toes gripping the leg diagonally opposite to the one his  
knee was around. His tail alternately whipped in the air, and curled  
itself around the only chair leg unclaimed by any other body part.  
_Damn, he looks depressed._ "Look, I'm sorry about the cash, okay? You  
shouldn't leave your door open like that, man. Anything could happen."  
"Locks are for people who don't trust anyone," murmured Kurt. He sent  
the nickel spinning again.  
_Ouch._ "For what it's worth, I only meant to shut the door for you.  
Then I saw the jar and I just had to check it out, you know?" Silence.  
He was watching the coin spin. "You had a one *thousand* dollar bill in  
there. I mean... god*damn*..." Glare. "Sorry." Kurt was one of those  
religious sorts. He got offended when people blasphemed in front of him.  
"I'd never seen that much cash in my *life*, man. I had to touch it. I  
had to see if it was real."  
"It was real," Kurt sighed. "It took me a month and a lot of work to  
get. The others were faster. I think because the Professor got what I  
was up to, but --" he sighed. "I thought we were friends."  
"We *should* be," Evan tried to smile. It failed. "I just wanted to  
hold it a little. Only the new mutants came by and asked me what was up  
and if I put it back, I'd have looked like I was *guilty*, so I kinda  
lied a bit and then they all started helping *themselves*, and I  
*really* couldn't put it back *then* and - honest to God, I was going to  
give it back just now, I swear. Here. Look." He held out his little  
sampler of large bills. "I've been having paranoid convulsions all day  
with this stuff in my pocket, bro'. It was a *nightmare*. Getting caught  
with this is like grand larceny or something. If I'd have got ripped off  
by Pietro..." he shook his head. "Man, I am just glad to get this *out*  
of my hands." He shoved it back into the jar with a little bit more  
force than necessary. "See? Back where it belongs. No harm done. Still  
friends, right?"  
The coin came to a stop. Kurt picked it back up, put it on its edge,  
and started rocking it back and forth under his finger. "Friends trust,"  
he said, the coin going to and fro in front of him. "You could have done  
any number of things, today."  
"I know, I know. I know. I could have just shown the other kids the  
bill and just put it back. I could have made everyone put it back. I  
could have agreed with Jamie. I could have confessed at school, today. I  
could have just shut the fucking door in the first place and not even  
bothered with the stupid fucking jar!"  
"*Evan*!"  
"Sorry, Aunty O. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my whole messed up *life*."  
The coin was still going to and fro underneath Kurt's finger.  
"I'm sorry, man."  
To and fro. To and fro. Kurt was staring at it as if it represented  
something. Maybe it was the only money left after everyone was done  
dipping into the jar. The noise it was making was starting to fill up  
the world. Evan wished he'd set it spinning again. Or drop it. Or let it  
go flying off under the fridge. *Anything* but just rock it back to and  
fro. To and fro.  
"We're still friends, right? You're not mad at me?"  
Sigh. To and fro. To and fro. And stop. "I don't know. I guess -- I'm  
afraid I won't *see* my friends any more. I'm afraid I'll just see a  
bunch of thieves. My faith, my friends... they're everything to me. I  
don't want to lose both in one day."  
_Make the hurting stop._  
"That would ruin everything for everyone," Kurt said.  
_*Please* make the hurting stop..._ Evan lost his patience. "Oh, for  
Pete's sake... just *look*, man. Get it *over* with."  
Sigh. Kurt closed his eyes and straightened up, then he looked at the  
assembled X-men. Then he grinned. "Ach, who was I kidding? Of course  
we're friends."  
"All right! Gimmie three!" Slap. Point. Order was restored to the  
universe.  
"So, said Kurt as he threw the nickel into the jar with the rest of  
the cash. "Who wants to help me haul *my* shopping for a change?"  
  
This is Jaques. He's a neat man who sells neat things at three times  
their ordinary price to *extremely* neat people who arranged for the  
purchase of discrete body ornaments for the sort of people who hired  
people to carry their money for them. He used to be called John, but  
that was before he got *Class*.  
He's about to get an object lesson in life.  
The very discrete and expensive alarm at the door when off, serenading  
the arrival of a client with a brief passage from Vivaldi. Jaques looked  
up from his Sotheby's brochure to identify the client type and had to do  
a double take when he didn't find a match.  
There were riff-raff in his store. Three teenage punk kids. One had  
dyed his hair blue, and as for his negroid compatriot - a born  
pickpocket, by the look of him - Jaques was sure there wasn't a polite  
word for that shade of blond. Then there was their female companion.  
She wore enough makeup to sink a barge and the sullen expression of a  
typical Goth.  
Goths who had, prior to today, been content to simply smear their  
makeup on his display window.  
The dyed-blond street punk whistled the rest of the overture whilst  
looking at the display cases. The Goth peered closely at an array of  
rings and sighed mournfully.  
"Wow," said the Goth. Her accent traced her origin to a rather -  
socially and economically inept portion of the South. "You really  
shoppin' here, Kurt?"  
"Depends on whether they have what I want or not," said blue-hair. He  
was from Germany, and not high-class Germany either. He sounded - rural.  
"Can you be helped?" sneered Jaques. "If you require your parking  
validated, may I suggest the Pay'n'Save just down the avenue. I'm afraid  
much of the merchandise in this establishment may be a little - beyond  
your means."  
"That's what *you* think," sang the pickpocket, sotto voice.  
To his surprise, the German leaned on the counter and smiled. "Ja. I'm  
looking for some jewelery fit for a Princess," he said. "I've only ever  
shopped for a Countess before, so I'm a little down on the ettiquite.  
But, I guess we could start with Faberge and work from there, right?"  
Jaques didn't even twitch. "And which of your compatriots has the  
hidden camera?"  
The Goth sniggered. "I'm startin' to wish I had one right now."  
"Me too," giggled the pickpocket.  
The rural German was pawing at a display at the counter. "That one,"  
he pointed at the ring, "Looks about the right size for Katzchen.  
Workmanship's a little on the shoddy side... Got anything on a higher  
level in the same kind of style?"  
"*That*," announced Jaques, "is Girmaunt."  
"Nope," said the German. "It's Girmaunt's sick bastard cousin. *Look*  
at that joinery, man. The welding could be used for a backscratcher."  
The Goth began to laugh behind her hands. Her pickpocket friend was  
grinning.  
Jaques, purturbed, bought out the case and stared at the ring through  
an eyepiece. How the *German* managed to spot it was beyond him, but the  
hallmarks were completely wrong. It was in the *style* of Girmaunt, but  
with none of his finesse. "I *must* have a word with my procurer."  
"Don't fire the man. It's easy to be fooled into believing in the work  
of an apprentice, ja?"  
*Now* Jaques twitched. That was what *he'd* been told by the procurer.  
"Quite."  
"If you have any *genuine* Girmaunt, I'd love to see it," grinned the  
German.  
"I *doubt* you could afford it."  
"Believe in miracles," said the German.  
"You are under video surveillance," he told them. "If you touch  
anything, I will summon the constabulary."  
The pickpocket and the Goth burst out laughing.  
Whatever their charade was, surely the price tags on the *good*  
merchandise would surely scare them off.  
Malcom, the security guard for the back room, caught his mood. "What's  
up?" he asked.  
"Riff-raff," sniffed Jaques. "They *claim* they want to *purchase*  
something."  
"Humour them," suggested Malcom. "Things get rowdy, I'll bop 'em onna  
head."  
_I need asprin,_ Jaques sighed as he grabbed the lowest-priced tray of  
Girmaunt and bought them out for the German and his laughing  
contemporaries.  
"I trust *this* meets sir's - standards?" He withdrew the velvet cover  
with a flourish.  
The German boy had two fingers over his mouth and a frown on his face.  
"Mmmmm... Too gaudy. This is neuveaux riche stuff," he squinted, "*and*  
pure apprentice work. If you don't *have* any Girmaunt or Faberge, just  
tell me, man. I can find someone who has them."  
Jaques wished he would, but his professional reputation was at stake.  
This - hill-boy - had just thrown down a gauntlet, and Jaques wasn't the  
sort to let it lie. "Just a moment, sir," he grimaced a parody of a  
smile. "I must have grabbed the wrong tray in my haste."  
Another chorus of laughter chased him into the back room. Only once he  
was out of sight, did he rain curses down on their little uncivilised  
heads. "They want quality, do they?" he growled, siezing trays left and  
right. "Well, let's *give* them quality. Picky little unwashed barefoot  
*oiks*!"  
He summonned his usual demeanor before emerging with his selection.  
"*These* are the correct trays," he announced, uncovering them.  
"Whoah..." breathed the pickpocket.  
"Yow," said the Goth.  
"Now *this* is more like it," grinned blue-hair. He plucked a tiny  
gold ring from one of the Girmaunt trays. It was fashioned in the shape  
of intertwining vines with tiny gold leaves and flowers sprouting from  
them. Blue-hair dug into a pocket and produced an extremely common  
measuring tape, and slid the ring over its metal-clad end. "Perfekt," he  
grinned again. "Just perfekt... Katzchen would *love* this." He placed  
it on one of the velvet covers. "Now for Princess Aquilla."  
Jaques felt a cluster of his neurons implode. "Then - who is  
'Katzchen'?"  
"Just this girl he wants to go out with," said the Goth.  
"Yeah. Kurt's *totally* whipped," sniggered the pickpocket.  
"Clappe," murmured the German, peering at the trays. He picked out a  
set of earings. "Now. If *these* are fit for a Countess, what would be  
satisfactory for a Princess?"  
Jaques got the sinking sensation that they were serious. The blue-  
haired German boy had, indeed, picked out something a Countess would be  
happy wearing. "In that case, sir," he said, voice wobbling a bit, "you  
would have nothing less than the house of Faberge. Might I suggest  
these?"  
"Ja... Work of a Master, there..." He picked one up, lettng the light  
glint off it. "Maybe - emeralds. They'd suit her complexion better."  
"And K-man doesn't even *like* the Princess," said the pickpocket. "So  
what's with the earrings?"  
"It's a quasi-insult," informed the Goth. "Whenever his home town's  
too poor to send the Count an' Countess anythin' much, they send her  
earrings. Usually, it's a matched set for the both of them. Cufflinks,  
tie pin, sash brooch for him, and earrings, necklace, bracelet and  
brooch for her."  
"Oh." The pickpocket looked over the trays on offer. "*Heyyyy*...  
Auntie O would *love* one of those..."  
"Evan," sighed the German. "Those are low-end. Your aunt's a Lady of  
Class."  
"Yeah, but this is her style, man. Simple and elegant. Pity I can only  
afford half of it."  
"We'll team up," Offered the German. "I can spare a few hundred  
bucks."  
Jaques' cerebellum fused.  
"Ditto here," said the Goth. "My credit's good. Just lemme get to an  
ATM. Y'all *do* give cash discounts, don'cha? 'Sides, I want that  
genuine fake Girmaunt fo' myself."  
*Cash*. They were going to pay cash. On unstable ground, Jaques could  
only be certain that money was a good thing. Especially at this time of  
year.  
"Sure," he said, reverting to his old, old self. "Not a problem..."  
"Great." The Goth took off at a run. "Wait up, okay?"  
"Uh. K-man? I think we broke him."  
"He'll feel better when he hears the till ring," said the German. He  
set out a pair of elegant emerald earrings on the velvet, right next to  
the little gold ring, then rather reluctantly picked up the pendant that  
the pickpocket had chosen. "You're *sure* this one."  
"Are you *nuts*? Aunty O will be over the moon."  
The German shrugged. "You know her better I do, I guess. These three,  
and the fake Girmaunt for my half-sister, Rogue. Separate boxes, if you  
please."  
Jaques looked out the door in the direction of the Goth, then back at  
the German boy. "Er..."  
"Their mom got around a lot," said the pickpocket. "We didn't even  
find out until recently."  
The German sighed. "My world is growing ever full of sisters," he  
said mournfully. "At this rate, I'll have to ask a girl for a DNA sample  
before I ask for a date."  
"Oh yeah," said the pickpocket. "I can hear that dialogue. 'Ja, I like  
you und everysing, but - mein mutter got around you see, und - I got to  
make sure you're not meine schwester first. Okay?' That is just *so*  
sad."  
"So's your accent. It sucks," the German swept his bangs back. "*I*  
sound *far* sexier than *that*."  
"Shyeah. Right."  
"Native teutonic charm, man. I ooze it from every pore."  
"Is *that* why you've been washing out so much with Kitty, then?" the  
pickpocket teased. "You *oozed* too much?"  
"Shut up."  
"Maybe y'all aught to *ooze* a little less. Be more appealling to the  
girls who don't like so many lubricants."  
"Shut *up*..."  
_Calm. Keep calm,_ Jaques told himself. _I am standing here and  
smiling while two people I would ordinarily have escorted out talk girls  
whilst they wait for one to get back from the ATM. This is riff-raff  
having a riff-raffy conversation in *my* decidedly *un*-riff-raffy  
store. On the other hand, the German punk seems determined to actually  
*pay* for this stuff, as opposed to pulling a gun and stealing it. He  
knows his stuff. He must at least *know* money._  
_But they're unwashed *oiks*,_ part of him persisted.  
_True,_ he said. _But they're unwashed oiks with *money*._  
A hand waved in front of his face. "Hey. Yo. I said we're ready to  
*pay*, now."  
"Maybe we did break him," said the German. "How much is it all. With a  
cash discount?"  
Jaques did a quick tally of the wholesale prices and added a naught to  
the end.  
The German snorted contemptuously. "You wouldn't even get that at an  
auction on a wet day," he said. "Be serious."  
Blink. He *did* know his stuff. Jaques knocked off the naught.  
"Right. Das ist better," the German plunked his backpack on the  
counter and unzipped it. "Let's see, now... ein, zwei, drei, vier,  
funf... Oops. Overcounted." He placed two thousand-dollar bills  
nonchallantly on the counter, then dug out a thick roll of hundreds.  
"Hey, what about us, K-man?"  
"I figured it'd be easier if I just paid for everything und you pay me  
back what you can."  
"Deal," the Goth stuffed a handful of money into the mouth of the jar  
in the German's bag.  
Jaques' personal compass blew up, spun, and came around pointing due  
Money. Here was a lad who casually carried around thousands of dollars in  
a *jar* in an old school bag. Anyone *that* casual about cash *had* to  
be Old Money.  
Which explained the clothes. They were so rich that they could afford  
to look poor. They just didn't *care*.  
Jaques drooled at the thought of being that affluent.  
"We *did* break him," said the Goth. "He ain't reached fo' the money  
yet an' he's kinda foamin' at the mouth."  
"Are you all right?" asked Master Kurt.  
"Terribly sorry, sir," said Jaques with genuine and heartfelt aplomb.  
"My mind was elsewhere. I'll just fetch the boxes for these pieces and  
then wrap them for you. Would you like a copy of our brochure?"  
"Nein, danke," said Master Kurt. "If I want anything else, I'll come  
by und ask."  
Jaques' brain melted into a happy pink morass at the thought.  
His friend, young Master Evan, laughed out loud. "Man, those earrings  
are sure gonna teach Amara for callin' you a bootless filthy gypsy."  
"Ja," said Kurt. "Not bad for a - what did he say, now? Oh ja. A picky  
little unwashed barefoot oik."  
Jaques' knees went out from under him just as he handed across their  
purchases. "Terribly sorry," he murmured, face going white. "A natural  
mistake, considering your -er- casual attire."  
Kurt zipped up his bag and plucked the shopping from Jaques'  
unresisting fingers. "But I *am* a picky little barefoot oik. *And* a  
bootless gypsy. I just happen to wash regularly and have money today."  
Jaques had to remember to breathe.  
  
They had to hold each other up in order to stop collapsing from  
laughter. All they could manage was iterations of, "Did you see his  
face--?" before what little decorum they'd scraped together collapsed.  
Then they bumped into Jean.  
"You three are *evil*, you know that?"  
They burst out laughing in reply. Broadcasting on all channels. Every  
telepath within a five mile radius would be having a hard time keeping a  
straight face.  
"*Do* share it with the others," gasped Kurt, "but don't let certain  
people know what they're getting, ja?"  
And so it went.  
A great deal of snooty businesses got a lesson in not judging, lest  
they be judged themselves, and Kurt's collection was getting rather -  
ecclectic. Some bags only held construction materials and tools, because  
he knew that the gift he wanted to give didn't exist yet. Or that no-one  
would make it.  
Some of his purchases were just - baffling. What on Earth was he going  
to do with a calligraphy set, a sheaf of expensive paper, and a few tiny  
stamps? Or, who was going to get them?  
_Heck,_ thought Rogue, _for all I know, he's bought my present right  
in front of me._ But it was hard to tell for certain. Kurt was a subtle  
master of manipulation. He came up with good ideas that "coincidentally"  
got them separated for up to half an hour without noticing it.  
One time, they'd gone for ice-cream, and only noticed when Kurt didn't  
order his usual double death-by-chocolate with fudge in a waffle cone.  
He'd turned up with a few extra bags from Radio Shack and just handed  
her the genuine fake Girmaunt with a cheery, "I know you don't  
celebrate, sis, but; happy birthday."  
He'd wrapped it and put one of those goddamned cheery puffy bow-things  
on it.  
"You can use the wrapping for target practice if you want," he  
offered.  
"Thanks," Rogue drawled. "I'm gonna learn to throw knives at *this*."  
"You're welcome."  
"You two," announced Evan, "have a very *sick* relationship, you know  
that?"  
"I like sick," said Rogue. "It's fun."  
"Whatever makes you happy," Kurt sang.  
*Somewhere* during Kurt's shopping trip, everyone else got the idea of  
sneaking around and getting everyone else's Christmas presents as well.  
Which meant, with seventeen mutants running around, that things got  
insane.  
There were people sneaking every which way and sniggering a lot. And  
people trying to duck behind cashiers when they spotted other people.  
And a lot of faux excuses and trying to get rid of people who completely  
refused to take the hint. People teamed up on other people, and the  
teams broke up when they had to get stuff for others in the team.  
The interpersonal dynamics, in a word, were complicated.  
It wasn't until everyone was escorted from their shopping venue of  
choice and on their way back to the Institute that Kurt dropped another  
bombshell.  
"I'm sorry, Jean," he said. "But I inadvertantly lied to you. I didn't  
have ten thousand dollars, it was more like--"  
{SCREEEEEET!}  
"Ow!" Scott rubbed his forehead from where it hit the wheel after he  
stood on the brake. "Kurt, could you not *do* that when I'm driving,  
thankyou?"  
"Sorry. I didn't know you seized up when you heard big numbers."  
"Just big *money* numbers," said Evan. Then he muttered, "*Damn*."  
  
Thanksgiving was a blast, what with everyone trying to grill everyone  
else on what they were getting for Christmas. The sneaking continued,  
though, as various people tried to enlist help from other people on the  
gift for a third party.  
At least everyone was relatively quiet. Except for the evil laughter  
in wierd corners.  
  
The first day of Chanukah dawned, and Kitty would have slept through  
that dawn if it wasn't for a certain morning serenade:  
"Katzchen, Katzchen, Katzchen, it's Chanukah today. Katzchen,  
Katzchen, Katzchen, with Katzchen I will play!"  
"Mmmmrrrrrggghhh..." Kitty managed, glaring at him through half-opened  
eyelids. Like, what was his *problem*?  
"Second verse! Same as the first!"  
"I'm up. I'm up. Quit singing, I'm up." Kitty lurched upright and  
glared hot liquid death at the fuzzy elf. He was wearing his hologram  
and had perched on the end of her bed. She *knew* he was clinging there  
with his long toes, but he *looked* like he could topple off at any  
second. "What's with the holo'?" she yawned.  
"House guests," he said. He was being deliberately oblique just to  
tease her. He vaulted off her footboard and somersaulted out the door.  
"Ten minutes, Katzchen. If you're not dressed by then, I'm taking you  
down as you are." He shut the door from the outside.  
Kitty stuck her tongue out in his general direction. Stupid  
hyperactive elf. She was halfway tempted to strip down to nothing and  
see what happened. Except he'd probably faint. And she'd be too  
embarressed.  
After a couple of false starts, she got her street clothes on and  
stumbled downstairs. "All right," she yawned again. "What's the fuss all  
about?"  
A camera flashed in her bleary eyes.  
"Happy Chanuka, Princess," said Dad.  
_What the--?_ Kitty squealed and ran into her parent's arms. Of course  
Kurt would have guessed that she was homesick. He was the one amongst  
all of them who was the furthest from his home.  
Mom had one of those silly little puff-bow things in her hair. "Your  
friend Kurt has quite a way of talking to people and getting them to do  
things," she grinned.  
"Yeah. I think his technique is like, keep talking about it until you  
like, totally give in."  
"Liar," said Kurt. "I wheedle. I do *not* nag."  
"So, um, what's with the stupid hair ornament?"  
"Apparrently," said Dad, "we're you're first Chanuka present. But we  
bought you some extras anyway."  
Kitty put two and two together. "Kurt, tell me you didn't pay for  
their plane tickets?"  
"Okay."  
She glared at him. "You know, if you weren't like, so *annoyingly*  
cheerful, I'd have to like, hug you or something."  
"Should I try to look sad?"  
"Kurt..."  
"Shutting up."  
Mom giggled.  
It wasn't until breakfast that things went slightly pear-shaped. For  
starters, the rest of the mansion was waking up, and secondly, Kurt's  
holoprojector started to fritz.  
Mom interrupted her with a tap on the shoulder while she was  
explaining about Jamie and whispered, "I don't know if there's a polite  
way to mention this, Kitty, but -er- your friend Kurt's -um- he's - he  
seems to have grown a tail..."  
Kitty looked. Kurt was so busy juggling eggs - before they became  
breakfast - that he didn't notice his tail had popped into view.  
"Kurt, your holoprojector's going down," Kitty called out.  
Kurt checked himself out and, still juggling, found the flaw. "Aw,  
*man*... and all the others are being repaired, too..."  
"What?" said Dad.  
"Might as well come clean," Kurt sighed, placing the eggs back into  
the carton. "I don't actually look like this," he began.  
"Skip the long version, fuzzy," Kitty advised. "Just cut to the chase.  
Mom, Dad; Kurt kinda like, puts the 'diff' in 'different', so he has to  
wear a hologram most of the time so people don't like, run screaming."  
"Thanks a lot," Kurt sarcasmed.  
"Well, they *do*. I know *I* did."  
"Katzchen, you're scaring your parents," he said.  
Indeed, Mom and Dad had scooched a little closer together and were  
holding each other's hands.  
"Look, you can like, totally relax," Kitty said. "He's just a blue,  
fuzzy, goofball elf with a tail."  
"You forgot the tridactyl hands and the digigrade legs," said Kurt.  
"And I don't think you're helping."  
"No, the fact that your right hand is back to normal isn't helping."  
Kurt looked at it and compared it to it's pink companion. Then he  
sighed, "Sorry about this," and touched his watch.  
Mom stifled a scream behind her free hand. Dad just went white.  
"You were going to find out sooner or later, I guess," Kurt said. He  
was still looking down. "I'd have preferred 'later'. Really."  
"Mom, Dad; this is Kurt. I like him. Deal."  
Kurt grinned, showing of the fangs that made her parents jump even  
more. "You mean that? You really like me?"  
Kitty sighed. "Yes, I really like you, fuzzy. Now try and actually be  
like, cool about it?"  
"Cool. Ja. I can do cool." He fluffed his bangs back and smiled. "You  
really like me and I can be cool about it. Completely cool. Totally  
cool. Calm. Cool."  
"Five, four, three..." Kitty counted. "Two..."  
"I can't!" {Bamf!}  
"One."  
There was a distant, "YEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAA! She *likes* me!"  
"Oh, and Kurt can teleport. I think I like, mentioned it in an email  
or something."  
Hank chose that moment to knuckle by. "Is there any particular reason  
why young Mister Wagner is doing somersaults in the snow?"  
"I said I liked him," said Kitty. "Can you like, teach him what  
'restraint' means?"  
"Ah, young love," Hank smiled and knuckled onwards.  
"That was Mr McCoy," said Kitty. "He's like, the coolest teacher on  
the whole *planet*. And no, he and Kurt aren't related. Not even  
remotely. We checked."  
"...ip," said Daddy.  
"You get used to it," soothed Kitty.  
  
Mom and Dad actually got around to asking questions by the second day.  
Kurt was the one who opened the floodgates while Kitty was opening her  
second round of Chanukah gifts. He was sipping hot chocolate and idly  
watching her parents stare at his flicking tail.  
"Something you want to know?" he asked. "I can promise I won't get  
offended."  
"Uh. What - happened to you? To make you like that?"  
Kitty muttered an agonised, "*Mo-ommm*..." under her breath.  
Kurt shrugged. "I was born like this," he said. "I'm what some experts  
call a 'second generation' mutant. My genetic mother is a shapeshifter.  
I don't know about my father."  
"Is that fur or hair?"  
"*Da-a-a-ad*..."  
"It's finer than hair, so it has to be fur, ja? And yes, I do get a  
winter coat, *but*, I don't shed as much as *some* people would have you  
believe."  
"*Ku-urt*..." Kitty had turned quite pink. "This is embarressing..."  
He transferred his mug to his tail so he could lean on his elbows and  
stare at her. "You're cute when you blush," he said.  
"...mph," said Mom.  
"Ja, I'm dextrous with all five limbs. Comes in handy when Mama  
*insists* on those shopping trips, you know?"  
Kitty finally finished unwrapping a sweater. "Whew. I'm glad this was  
like, nothing *else* expensive. At least you like, got a clue about  
Chanukah, Kurt."  
"That's not mine," Kurt giggled. "Try again."  
Kitty rolled her eyes. Part of *Kurt's* perfect Christmas/yuletide/  
whatever had been guessing which gift came from whom. The idea had  
caught on with a vengeance. "I'm doomed," she sighed. Sure it was fun to  
do to other people, but - she was never good at this.  
Meanwhile, Rogue, Jean, Amara and Jubes were snickering.  
"Wait, I get it. Team girl-power over there, right?"  
"Kurt was right," Rogue was actually *smiling*, a rare sight. "This  
*is* fun."  
"Remember that when you're like, playing 'guess who' on Christmas,"  
said Kitty. Another present contained some floral perfume. "Thanks  
Kurt?"  
"Bzt! Try again."  
Logan smirked, failing to look innocent.  
"Like, I do *not* want the picture of *you* in the perfume section."  
"Actually, it was a pack of us," Scott confessed.  
"We tried to get the K-man to help," said Evan, "but he'd kinda  
disappeared on us."  
"I had other plans," smoothed Kurt.  
"Oh great," said Kitty. "Knowing you, somethings gonna like, totally  
jump out on me." She opened the next gift. It was a hair thingy - with  
instructions, for a very elegant hair style. "Um. Mr McCoy? This is  
like, way too adult..."  
"Not I, said the fox," said Hank.  
Kurt was *not* keeping a straight face. "Everyone's got to grow up  
sometime," he reasoned. "It'll be ready when you are."  
"But I thought you were like, mister spendthrift..."  
"Expense is nothing compared to style," Kurt breezed.  
"Do you comb it? Your fur?"  
"*MOM*..."  
  
Kitty was kind of dreading today, the third day, because the numbered  
package that looked like it was from Kurt was very small and could  
easily hold a ring. That would have to open up the dangerous question of  
whether she *liked* him, liked him, and she didn't want to break his  
heart. The way he constantly flirted with her, brushed off being shot  
down and came back again and again spoke volumes about how he felt about  
her.  
It was painfully obvious that he was totally in love.  
Kitty was less than certain. She'd focussed heavily on the drool-a-  
licious, athletic and above all *normal* guys around school. All the  
time afraid that one of them might start to like her back. Then she'd  
focussed on the 'untouchable' mutants. Scott, who was head over heels  
about Jean, and Lance, who was part of the dark, icky side and she  
really didn't want to go near him anyway.  
Was it the hint of danger? Or was it denial?  
Kitty didn't want to cover that, just yet, so she left the little box  
until last and hoped it would get covered in discarded wrapping paper so  
she could pretend she forgot it.  
Jean, curse her little neat-freak soul, insisted on telekinetically  
cleaning up the mess.  
_Face up to it, Kitty,_ Jean told her telepathically. _Think of it as  
truth or dare._  
_Thanks a bunch,_ Kitty sarcasmed, and opened the tiny box.  
Just earrings. She breathed a sigh of relief. Little saphire studs  
with tiny golden leaves embracing the gem. Again, a little too adult.  
All of a sudden, she didn't want to complain. She'd been secretly so  
*sick* of shopping in the kid's department, that she'd almost made up a  
cover identity to conceal the fact that she was wearing stuff that was  
too young for her.  
Her eyes stung a little. Bless his fuzzy hide... How did he *know*?  
"Oh, fuzzy..." she sniffed. "I won't be able to wear these for like,  
*forever*."  
"I believe in miracles," Kurt grinned.  
  
He *had* to be up to something. This was not only jewelery, but it was  
*matching* jewelery. She'd never seen anything so delicate and wonderful  
and *too* grown up for anything she owned.  
There were diamonds in the necklace, along with the tiny saphires, and  
again, microscopic yet exact little leaves and flowers in its design.  
Mom and Dad were holding hands and looking soppy. They'd gotten used  
to Kurt amazingly quickly, after the mortifying Q&A session, before.  
He just carried on as if they'd always known about him and, little by  
little, they'd adjusted. Sure, they still stared a little, but Kurt was  
more than used to that. It was like he threw himself at people and dared  
them to deal with it.  
Just like he kept throwing himself at her.  
Now there was a frightening thought; what if Kurt was working up to  
something? There was, after Mom and Dad came, a certain *theme* to his  
gifts. A little tiny slice of adult veneer, tailored to her size.  
Was he trying to tell her something, or attempting to woo her?  
No, he wasn't trying to tell her something.  
And, when she really got down to it, she wasn't *really* that  
frightened by the latter option. Kurt was a really sweet guy. He payed  
attention to things, always trying to fix what was wrong or improve what  
was right.  
And, she had to admit, he had fantastic taste. He knew exactly what  
would make her happy.  
  
On the fifth day, she got shoes from him. They matched everything  
else, so far. They were elegant, restrained, just her size,  
*comfortable*, which she thought an impossibility in high heels, and  
just perfect.  
"I wonder what's in those other three boxes that matches these?" she  
teased. Now that she had twenty-four hours to think about it, Kitty  
definately liked the idea of a woo-ing elf.  
"Wait and see," he said, trying to be coy while tying himself in  
knots. A sure sign that he was nervous. He always seemed to get himself  
into impossible tangles when he was jittery. "It's only three days."  
"Actually, it's like, more. I've like, decided to open my last Chanuka  
presents on Christmas. You know, so I can be with the rest of you."  
Kurt actually grinned. "Fine by me."  
  
On the sixth day, she got a purse that matched everything else. Inside  
it was a gold sovreign.  
"It's for luck," Kurt explained. "Giving an empty purse is wishing the  
person poverty."  
"You're cornered, now, fuzzy," Kitty laughed. "Now there's like, no  
more accessories."  
Kurt just grinned.  
  
The seventh package from Kurt had to be the largest of the lot. Inside  
the box, under a festoon of tissue paper, was the single most elegant  
satin dress she'd ever seen. Just as grown-up as the rest of his gifts  
to her. Just her size.  
It wasn't just a dress, it was a Dress. It deserved the capital  
letter.  
"Oh yeah, blue-boy's whipped."  
"Shut up, Evan. He can be in love if he wants to."  
Kitty knew, without a doubt, that waiting for Christmas, to see what  
surprise her elf had cooked up for the last gift, was going to be agony.  
Of course, what *he* didn't know was that they had some surprises in  
store for *him* as well.  
  
It was still technically Christmas eve, but not for long. Kitty yawned  
and rubbed her eyes and wished, not for the first time, that Kurt's  
perfect Christmas did *not* include midnight mass.  
Kurt's family had the slight advantage of jetlag to help them get  
ready at this hour of night. As for the elf, he was still sound asleep.  
Kitty envied him.  
His sisters, a trio of girls who were, apart from their ages, nearly  
identical, were helping Rogue, Jean and herself get primped and ready.  
It didn't help that they were almost as boisterous as their brother, or  
that they casually juggled implements like true circus professionals.  
_Duh, Pryde. They *are* circus professionals._  
"Better finish rubbing your eyes, Katzchen," said Anja, age thirteen.  
"I'm about to do your face."  
"Here's the slap," Erika, age twelve, tossed her a small case. "I kept  
it down to her colours. Need the rest for Jean, here,"  
"I'll need it next," said Katja, age fourteen. "After I'm done finding  
a style for schwester Rogue that doesn't make her look like the bride of  
Frankenstein."  
That was another oddity of the Wagners. If they liked you, they  
adopted you. Famillial ties - in this case, Rogue being Kurt's half-  
sister - were tenuous at best. One of the first ones Kitty noticed was  
how they casually swapped pet names.  
Kitty finished rubbing her eyes and tried not to yawn. _How long did  
it take before Kurt realised his name *wasn't* 'leibe'?_ she wondered.  
_Or 'flockig' or anything else this lot have come up with?_  
"Perfekt," Anja cooed. "You're a Princess."  
"I'd have thought Countess," said Katya. "That jewelery's Girmaunt-  
esque. All that's missing is the bracelet and the brooch."  
Erika grinned. "It fits," she said, "Unser flockiger Schatz had a  
*huge* crush on meine Dame the Countess for *years*. It's only fair he  
treats his leibling like royalty."  
"Princesses *are* allowed to wear Girmaunt if they want to, these  
days," noted Katya. "It's all about taste and style. Not who made it."  
"You'd better watch out," Anja elbowed Kitty in the ribs. "If you're  
not careful, he'll have you *dripping* in Faberge. You'll have to sit on  
him."  
Kurt's Mom poked her head in, "Are we all lovely yet, Leiben? We have  
to go wake leibes flockig, soon."  
"You know how to wake him up?"  
"We've lived with him for sixteen years, we aught to."  
"Let's try the gentle way first, ja?" said a voice outside. Kurt's  
dad. "Christmas carols at full volume."  
"Charge!" Erika leaped from her place. "Tally ho!"  
"Oh God," Rogue muttered. "They're *all* like *him*..."  
  
There was a musical note on the harmonica. {fweeeeet}...  
"Hmmmmm..."  
"Ein, zwei, drei, *vier*!"  
"DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW! IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!"  
"...mrgl...zzzzzzz..." Kurt blinked once, rolled over, and fell back  
to sleep during the seranade.  
"*I'll* get him up," said someone who sounded remarkably like Katja.  
But Katja was back in Heirelgart with the rest of his family. "Regard,"  
she continued. "An ordinary drinking glass. Regard, some ordinary snow.  
We put the snow in the gass, *so*. Now, regard, a not so ordinary  
tail..."  
"I'm up. I'm up." Kurt yawned, blinking muzzily at the assembled  
crowd. "Oh. I'm dreaming." And with a slight {fwump}, his head hit the  
pillow and he was back to sleep.  
"Dream this, knabe," and his tail-tip was plunged into something  
freezing cold.  
"*YEEEEEEP*!" Kurt leaped out of bed, ricochetted off the wall, and  
wound up clinging to the chandallier.  
"*Now* he's up," said Katja.  
"Du scheisse!"  
"Way to scream like a girl, K-man."  
"*You* try putting something sensitive into ice, sometime," Kurt  
retorted, his brain finally getting into gear as he rubbed some heat  
back into his tail. "I can guarantee that sounding manly will be last on  
your list. When did *you* lot get here?"  
"Sometime after you went to bed, leibe," said Mama. "Now get dressed.  
We have an hour and a half to get to church before the mass starts."  
"I'll help out," said Papa. "Waking up like that scrambles the brain,  
you know."  
  
Kitty knew she'd finally made an impact when she saw his jaw drop.  
"Katzchen," he breathed. "Sie sind schon uber Wortern hinaus..."  
"I'm gonna like, have to take that as a compliment. Seeing as I didn't  
understand a word beyond 'Katzchen'."  
"He said, 'you're beautiful beyond words'," Katja whispered in her  
ear.  
"Oh," Kitty blushed. Then she noticed that her dress and his bow tie  
matched. He *had* planned this. Though probably without the family  
kibbitzing in the background.  
"Ahem," said Rogue. "Y'all are *forgetting* somethin', bro." She  
gestured at his wrist.  
"Oops. Heh," Kurt grinned, and turned on his hologram. "It's easy to  
forget, these days."  
A true sign that he knew people loved him, and judged him for himself,  
not how he looked. He was starting to feel at home, here. Though having  
his real family around probably helped.  
*Somehow*, Kitty wound up right next to him in church, but she  
suspected the snickering Wagner sisters. All through the service, she  
sneaked looks at him, and he sneaked little touches of her. Nothing  
overt, just a hand held here, or a brushed arm there, and once, she  
could have sworn his tail snaked around her waist for a brief squeeze.  
They were all awake enough by the time that they came back, that going  
back to bed for a handful of hours wasn't an option. Everyone was eager  
to see what they'd got from whom.  
  
There was wrapping paper everywhere, and laughter abounded.  
"Ha," the Professor laughed at his latest gift. "A box of vouchers,  
entitling the bearer to twenty-four hours free of fuzzy-elf hijinks.  
Thanks, Kurt."  
"I figured, what do you get for the man who's got everything?"  
"I could use some of those vouchers, myself," someone muttered in the  
background.  
Ororo gasped. She'd found the pendant. "Oh *my*... This is-- Oh,  
Evan." She caught him up in a hug.  
"Told you she'd like it, K-man."  
Rogue held up a necklace. "Alright. *Why* does a necklace have an  
*owner's* manual?"  
"Put it on and see," said Kurt.  
Rogue glared at him. "Mm-hm." She put it on, and flicked a tiny hidden  
switch indicated in a diagram. "Cute. It has an LED. So what?"  
"Not your style?" Kurt was still grinning. He was *up* to something.  
"Oh well, Merry Christmas, schwester." And, before anyone could stop  
him, he kissed her forehead.  
"Kurt, no! You- I- My powers..."  
Kurt laughed. "Temporarily cancelled."  
"*How*?"  
"It's a mutant restraint collar. Heavily disguised. I thought you'd  
like the opportunity to touch when you wanted to."  
Rogue's reply was incoherent, but she *did* hug everyone in the room.  
Tears ruined her makeup, and no-one minded, least of all Rogue.  
"Calcium pills?" said Evan.  
"We kinda wanted a chance at getting some 'moo juice', ourselves. Try  
not to eat them like candy?"  
"Wunderbar! George Harrison's complete works... He's really hard to  
find."  
"*Do* try not to play it at max volume, elf?"  
Kitty opened a box and sarcasmed, "Gee, I wonder who *this* is from?"  
She held it up for everyone to see. It was a very cute plush version of  
Nightcrawler. Replete with a shock of blue hair. It was holding a little  
box in its fuzzy tridactyl hands.  
Or rather, the box was holding the hands together via the ribbon that  
was wrapped around it. Kitty untied it and freed the box, leaving Kurt's  
plush twin with its arms akimbo as if it was saying, "Hug me."  
Kitty took a deep breath. _Truth or dare, Kitten._ She opened the box,  
and stopped breathing.  
It was exquisite. It was beautiful. It was delicate. It was pure gold.  
It came with a note. Just three words.   
"Be my girlfriend?" it said.  
Kitty found herself staring at Kurt, who was suddenly inscrutable.  
"Oooooh..." Erika breathed. "Girmaunt..."  
"I won't be offended, Katzchen," Kurt said. "Whatever you have to say,  
just say the truth. It won't hurt."  
Rogue made a tiny noise and clung to Hank's arm for support.  
Once, when Kitty was still afraid of him, she'd asked what his problem  
was. Rogue had actually answered.  
"Easy," she'd said. "Everyone treats him like an animal that can  
talk."  
She'd felt completely scummy about that for a whole week. After the  
week was up, though, she knew she could see him as a person. Even if he  
was fuzzy and blue. Rogue understood him, and through her, Kitty  
understood as well.  
It was an all-or-nothing thing. Bet everything, cross your fingers,  
and pray. And he was so afraid of losing that he more than half expected  
it to happen.  
Kitty stood up and walked towards him, ring still held in her hand.  
Kurt closed his eyes, something he did when he was certain he was  
going to get shot down.  
She took his hands in hers and said, "Kurt, could you like, put this  
on for me?"  
His eyes snapped open in disbelief. "You mean--?"  
"Sure. Like, make it official already."  
He had a dazed little smile on his face as he slid the ring onto her  
left hand. "Ich liebe Sie fur immer," he whispered.  
*Two* sets of parents snapped photos as they hugged and kissed.  
  
Some hours later...  
Lance tried to be nice. Kitty's parents were over and everything, so  
he *had* to be on his best behaviour for them, at least. Well, he would  
be, except they'd gone out with Mangy-blue's alleged folks for a gellato  
or something.  
*This* time he had to act nice for the honour guard. Every X-geek in  
the place except for Mangy-blue.  
_Relax. Be cool. You're just here to see Kitty. Give her her Christmas  
present and hope it's a Christmas to remember._ Lance cleared his throat  
for the fiftieth time and whispered his little speech to himself.  
The TV was on in the common room, but the only sign of habitation was  
a discarded shirt on the back of the couch. Lance heard Kitty giggle. He  
didn't think the stuff on the TV was that funny.  
There was a low, rumbling noise that had nothing to do with his power  
or the TV.  
Kitty was sitting on the floor, tangled in a blanket and hardly paying  
any attention to the TV. She was grinning fit to crack her face.  
The new look she had on was *stunning*, but her dress seemed to be  
coming undone.  
Superior Scott cleared his throat.  
"Oh! Er. We were just - um... We were just--"  
Mangy-blue surfaced from under a fold of blanket. "Watching TV," he  
grinned and hitched the shoulder of Kitty's dress up for her. He wasn't  
wearing a shirt.  
_Oh. My. God._ No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.  
_So pretend everything's normal, you doof!_ "Uh. Kitty. Hi. I-um- I  
bought you a Christmas present." He offered it up in a spasm of motion.  
"Merry Christmas?"  
"I'm like, jewish, Lance."  
"Er..." _Way to dig your own grave, rock tumbler._ "Happy belated  
Chanukah?"  
Kitty sighed and struggled out of her tangle. Damn, she looked good in  
that get-up, even if she was slightly rumpled. "Thanks anyway," she  
said. "It's - sweet of you. Really." She angled a look at Mangy-blue.  
The freakshow motioned for her to open her gift. Since when did she  
pay any attention to *that*?  
Kitty opened it, and stared at the ring he'd got her. "Um," she said.  
"Lance, I don't know how to say this, but -er-"  
"It's too big, isn't it?" Lance babbled. "I know your fingers are  
really small'n' everything an' I *tried* to get one that'd fit you,   
but--"  
"Lance," said Kitty. "I'm sorry, but I really can't accept this. We  
can still be like, friends, right?"  
_Ouch. Shot down so fast and *so* hard._ "...maybe you could wear it  
on your necklace for a while, or--" his mouth caught up with his brain.  
"Can't? What do you mean, can't?"  
"I'm already like, going steady. With Kurt."  
The freakshow grinned, his jaundice-coloured eyes fixed on Kitty.  
"With *that*? No way! Kitty, you're *mine*."  
"No means no, Alvers."  
"Bug off Summers. Who died and made *you* boss of *me*?"  
All of a sudden, the freakshow was right next to him. How the hell did  
he move so fast so quietly? "I think you've overstayed your welcome," he  
said, and laid a hand on Lance's shoulder.  
Freakshow was only wearing his pants.  
_God, no..._  
{Bamf!} He was shoved headfirst into the Brotherhood's door, and fell  
on his ass into the snow.  
Todd opened the door and spent three minutes trying to stop laughing.  
"Hey, you knock onna door with your *hands*, yo," he managed.  
"Wassamatta? Snow jump up an' bite you on the ass?"  
"I need asprin," he said. 


	4. Part the Fourth: Lock Your Door!

Part the Fourth: Lock Your Door!  
  
Evan had been having an okay day. Until he wandered through the wrong  
door and turned his world upside down. "Yo, K-man," he said, pushing the  
portal in question open with a careless shove. "Wanna go and-- OmyGod!"  
Kurt was doing needlework.  
"OmyGod..."  
He was sitting there and *sewing*.  
"OmyGod."  
With a needle.  
And thread.  
"Oh. My. *God*."  
He had a frikkin' *sewing* *kit*.  
"Vas?" he said. "Something the matter?"  
"...ip," Evan squeaked. This had to be worse than the time he found  
out the 'Crawler used shampoo like body wash. Or when he wanted to find  
out what was so funny after Scott came back from Hawaii. He pointed at  
Kurt's work with a shaking hand.  
"This? I'm just fixing some new pants up." Ever so casually, he bit  
the thread off. He folded up the pants and added them to a pile. "You  
grow up with a tail and you learn a few things. That's all."  
"Bu-- buhuaaaahhh...." Evan stuttered. "But it's so - fruity," he  
finally managed.  
"It's a survival skill," Kurt corrected, matching some thread to a set  
of bright yellow boxers. "Try and imagine asking your Aunt to fix your  
pants up with a hole for a tail. I know *I'd* die blushing." He popped a  
seam with a little white stitch-ripper, then commenced sewing again.  
Cool as a cucumber.  
"Just - please. Just tell me you're not gay?"  
"Would you believe me if I did?"  
Evan had to think about that. "Nnnno."  
"Then vas ist the point? Believe what you will. It won't change the  
truth."  
_OmyGod!_ "What truth?"  
"That I'm a straight guy who sews."  
Evan ran from the room as if it contained a nasty disease. "Don't go  
in there!" he warned Rogue. "Do *not* go in there!"  
Rogue, of course, peeked in. There was a moment of silence, then,  
"Kurt, you have *got* to start locking your door." 


	5. Part the Fifth: Comparative Theology 101

Part the Fifth: Comparative Theology 101 [With sincere apologies to Don  
Camillo :) ]  
  
"Kurt, you're taking the whole 'whistle while you work' thing just a  
*tad* too far, dude," Scott called out, annoyed by his teammate's  
singing.  
"I like singing," Kurt said, still washing the X-jet with all five  
limbs. "The hangar has fantastic accoustics."  
"At least sing something *popular*?"  
"Five hundred thousand Catholics can't be wrong, man."  
"That's a *hymn*? You're *singing* a *hymn*? *HERE*?"  
"Why not? God's everywhere."  
Scott made a noise. "That's just a bunch of superstitious hokum cooked  
up to keep people forking over their dough and feeling guilty about  
having money in the first place. There *is* no God."  
"You really believe that, don't you?"  
"*Hello*. Parents dead when I was six? You do the math."  
"So you're not worried about your immortal soul, then."  
"When you're dead, you're dead. End of story. All we are is a bunch of  
electrical impulses generated by our bodies."  
"So you think you don't have a soul?"  
"I *know* it, Kurt. Now can you please shut up and at least sing  
something they play on the *radio*?"  
"Want to put your theory to a test, then?"  
Scott glared at him. "All right. What sort of test?"  
"Since *I* believe in souls and all that, I'll buy yours off of you.  
We can discuss a fair price, write out a receipt. Make it nice and  
legal. When I die, I get to take it to heaven with me. You don't have to  
worry about a thing."  
"I wasn't worried in the first place," said Scott.  
"Ja, but this way, *I* don't have to worry either."  
"Whatever, dude." Scott shrugged and shook his head. "Okay. How's  
about twenty bucks?"  
"Twenty?" Kurt sounded outraged. "You're selling something of yours  
that's going to go on *forever* for *twenty* *dollars*? Are you *mad*?"  
"I'm selling you *nothing* for twenty dollars. I already feel like I'm  
ripping you off, here." He reached for his bottled water and took a  
drink.  
"I was thinking more along the lines of twenty thousand."  
{SPWFFFFFTTTT!}  
"Dankeschoen. I needed more water up here."  
"...hork... There's no *way* I'm taking that much off of you. Never."  
  
Scott managed to finally haggle Kurt down to one hundred dollars, and  
even then, he wasn't particularly happy about it. But then, neither was  
Kurt, and that was good enough for him.  
*Then* there was that contract.  
"Lay it on a little thick, don't you?"  
"Just read it, man."  
Scott cleared his throat. "I, Scott -letsskipthatmiddlename- Summers  
do hereby sell my immortal soul and hope of heavenly salvation for the  
sum of one hundred American dollars to Kurt - oh good *grief*...  
*That's* your middle name?"  
"Deal. I had to."  
"And when *are* you suing your parents?"  
"Pot, kettle, black, Cyke. Just sign."  
Jubilee giggled.  
Scott scribbled his name. Kurt did likewise, and Jubilee added a date  
to her witnessing signiature. She cracked up laughing at least three  
times during the exchange.  
"Do we really need *her* as a witness?" Scott asked.  
"She was handy." Kurt handed over the money.  
Scott handed over the contract.  
Jubes ran out of the room, yelling, "Hey, guys! Guess *what*?" at the  
top of her gossippy lungs.  
Kurt blew on the ink to make sure it was dry. "Yup," he said. "Best  
hundred bucks I ever spent."  
  
"You didn't," said Jean.  
"So what if I did?" he demanded. "Kid wants to throw money at me for  
nothing, I'm not going to stop him."  
"You're going to give him back the money."  
"Already tried. He won't take it. Says the contract's legally  
binding."  
Jean sighed. "You *know* how hard Kurt works for his cash? A hundred  
dollars is a lot of waxing."  
"I tried that angle, too. Do you know what he said?"  
"What?"  
"Some of life's lessons are more expensive than others. This one is  
costing me hardly anything at all."  
"That was it?"  
"Direct quote."  
  
"Hey Summers. Heard you sold your soul to a devil, yo."  
"Did Jubilee tell *everyone*?"  
"Nearly. The ones she missed, fuzz-butt informed."  
"If you see him, tell him to stop acting so damned *smug* about it.  
The guy's a born sucker. Paying money for nothing."  
Todd snorted. "Yeah. Right. That's what you think." He hopped away  
before Scott could ask him what medication he was on.  
  
"Hey, everyone," Kurt was *still* chipper and annoyingly smug. "Scott.  
Thought you might like to know your soul's still in good hands."  
"Fine," Scott managed through gritted teeth.  
"Haven't had to sell it to anyone else, yet. Thank goodness."  
"*WHAT*?"  
"Whoah. Little edgy, ja?"  
"We never said anything about selling it on."  
"What do you care? You think it doesn't exist," Kurt grinned. "Or have  
you changed your mind?"  
"I don't want you selling it on," Scott said. "Some other idiot might  
think he has power over me."  
"Or she," said Kurt. "Equal rights and everything. But you're right. I  
did agree to take care of it. I just hope the Professor doesn't run out  
of chores for me to do. I *really* want that vintage sword set..."  
  
Don't panic. Don't panic. Kurt's set this all up so you'll go bezerk,  
Summers. Stick to your guns. There's no such thing as God. Nothing even  
remotely like immortality. No souls. Anywhere.  
But everyone *else* seems so damn *sure* about it.  
Could I be wrong?  
Nah. Everyone else are a bunch of loosers. I have a hundred bucks and  
Kurt has nothing but a stupid contract.  
Not even worth the ink used to write it.  
So why the hell am I so bent out of shape about him selling it?  
Because it's stupid, that's why.  
Yeah. It's stupid. Like anyone else is going to pay good money for a  
piece of paper that says they own my soul. Right. It doesn't even exist.  
So what about that feeling, then?  
What the hell are you talking about?  
That little niggling emptyness. Just *there*. What's that about, then?  
It's psychosomatic. You're a badly digested piece of pizza and I am  
*NOT* going to stress about this.  
That's what *you* think...  
Shut up.  
What if Kurt dies? You ever think about that?  
So what? If he dies, he dies. It's not going to happen tomorrow.  
Come off it. He's always getting pasted in battles. Flying debris, the  
Blob. Gets knocked on the head an awful lot, you know.  
So he's unlucky. So what?  
So what if he dies and this whole 'soul' thing *is* real? He takes  
yours with him when he goes. That means that, without your soul on  
Earth, you're going to die, too.  
Shut *up*.  
Just like that. Fzt. No more Scott. It's going to freak out  
*everyone*.  
Who *are* you, anyway? What are you doing in my head?  
I'm your conscience. I belong here.  
Maybe I should have sold *you* off, too.  
Nope. No can do, dude. I'm a permanent installation. You can't get rid  
of *me* with a piece of paper.  
Damn.  
Yes, you are.  
Are what?  
Damned. Remember that movie about the guy who sold his soul? You  
remember where he wound up.  
But Kurt said he'd take my soul *with* him. Assuming for a moment it  
even exists. I've got no doubts as to where *he's* aiming for.  
Ha. You and I both know that whatever Kurt's doing to look after your  
soul, it's nothing more than a spit-shine. You've been a bad boy in the  
past, and you know it.  
Shut up. Half of that shit wasn't even my fault. They made me. I had  
no choice.  
Kurt doesn't know what you did before you came to the Institute. He  
can't know. I bet he'd know what to do to fix things if he *did* know.  
Shut *UP*! You can't fix the past. Dead is dead. There's no soul. No  
God. No nothing. The Universe is a great big accident and so am I.  
If you say so.  
  
It had been three weeks since Scott had sold his soul. He still wasn't  
happy about it. Especially since he'd had to spend the money. Now there  
was no way back. So what? It was his stupid fault for wasting his money  
in the first place. No big deal. No big deal at all.  
But the empty little spot, just *there*, was getting bigger.  
Something was missing, and he knew it.  
His favourite meals lost their flavour. Jean's irresistable beauty was  
less - captivating. Matthews wasn't worth balling a fist up for. The  
Brotherhood was less irritating. Even Kurt "I've got two souls and you  
have none" Wagner was less annoying, but only marginally.  
It was like the life was gradually draining out of his existance.  
_Kinda soulless isn't it?_ whispered his conscience.  
_Shut up._  
There were so many phrases. Heart and soul. The soul of the matter.  
Soul music. Soul food. Bless my soul. Soul man. A good soul. A kind  
soul. A gentle soul. A happy soul.  
It was everywhere. It was everywhere and he couldn't get away from the  
constant reminders. Everyone was so *sure* it existed. That it was  
there. That something of a person lived beyond temporary flesh.  
And they were starting to get to him.  
_Damn Kurt for starting this!_  
_You're sure about that? You *want* him and your soul to go straight  
to hell?_  
"Shut up," he whispered.  
"What?" said Jean.  
"Nothing. I have to find Kurt."  
  
Kurt wasn't anywhere in the mansion. Scott had even checked the fusty,  
dusty and abandoned basement levels, just in case he was fossicking  
around in there. He wasn't.  
He wasn't training, in the danger room *or* in the gym. He wasn't  
playing Calvinball with any of the new mutants. He wasn't in the pool.  
He wasn't in his room. He'd even left his holowatch off. Something he  
did so rarely that it was a calendar event.  
Evan didn't know where he was. Rogue hadn't seen him, and Logan hadn't  
either. Ororo and the Professor were both too busy to have even noticed  
that he was gone. Jean refused to help.  
Which left one other person on the entire estate he could ask.  
He found her after an hour. Or more correctly, he found one of her  
feet, dangling out of a tree.  
"Kitty! Have you seen Kurt anywhere?"  
"No. You tried his room?"  
"First thing."  
"Danger room?"  
"Not there."  
"Gym?"  
"Look, I've already been through all that. He isn't anywhere, but he's  
left his holowatch behind."  
"Huh. Must've like, gone to his church."  
"*WHAT*? Without his holoprojector? There'll be a *riot*!"  
"Relax, Scott," said Kitty. "He hasn't gone to a *Church* church. Just  
*his* church."  
"Huh?" _Brilliant, Summers. Just brilliant. Way to be stunningly  
articulate._  
"See that like, humungous hunk of trees over there? There's this like,  
clearing in the middle of it. Kurt like, goes there to argue with God.  
Or sing. Depends on his mood. It's like his personal church."  
"I take it you caught him at it," said Scott.  
"Big time. He was really like, shouting and junk."  
Scott thought about this. It fit. It really did. If one was going to  
argue with one's deity, one would *want* to do it out of the sight or  
hearing of others. "Huh," he said at length and started off with an  
absent, "Thanks."  
"Been doing a little *soul* searching, Scott?" Kitty laughed.  
"Shut up," he sighed.  
  
Okay. He was lost. Sure, *Kurt* could bamf in and out of this mess in  
nothing flat, but Scott was just stuck with force-beams in his eyes and  
he really didn't want to blow up Kurt's church.  
Besides, there was a passing chance that Kurt was still in it.  
He shouldn't have stepped off the twining little path between the  
trees. He shouldn't have thought of taking a short cut.  
If there *was* a God watching him, why didn't He do anything to help?  
Kurt's answer would be something stupid like, 'The Lord helps those  
who help themselves'. Really handy. Especially in the middle of a  
miniature damn *forest* when sunset was threatening to encroach.  
Then, at last, he heard something.  
Soft, gentle singing. Kurt's voice, and the sort of thing he came out  
with when doing odd jobs around the Institute. Scott followed it at the  
closest thing he could manage to a run, given the clot of trees between  
himself and the elf.  
There he was. In a clearing. On a big rock. Singing at the clouds as  
if he did it every day.  
Hell, he probably *did* do it every day.  
"Ah, Kurt," Scott gasped, slightly out of breath. "Glad I found you."  
"Something I can help you with?" Kurt smiled, his head dangling  
backwards over the edge of the rock.  
"Um. Well... er..." His brain emptied of any sort of chatty preamble.  
"I... wannabuyitback."  
"Pardon?"  
"I want to buy it back," he said through gritted teeth.  
"Buy what back?" by now, Scott could tell he was being coy.  
Scott fumed. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I want  
to buy it back. Now. If not sooner."  
Kurt rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up with one  
hand. "Maybe my memory slipped."  
Scott hauled him halfway off the rock by his shirt front. "Let me buy  
it back right now or I'll --" _Waitaminute... He's the only one who  
knows where it is. If you flatten him, you're going to have to wait  
until he heals before you get it back._  
Kurt, meanwhile, had casually walked down the vertical side of the  
rock so that his body was parallel to the ground. "Mmmmmmyyyyeeesss?" he  
said. "What *are* you going to do?"  
_Throw an appoplectic fit, apparrently,_ Scott thought. "Sorry.  
Sorry." He put Kurt down. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking."  
"I kind of guessed." Kurt straightened up his clothes and smoothed  
some of his fur. "Worried about something?"  
Scott twitched. Kurt was *obviously* not going to help unless Scott  
said what he wanted to hear. He sighed. "...iwannabuymysoulback..." he  
mumbled.  
"Vas?"  
"Iwannabuymysoulback."  
"Pardon?"  
Something inside him snapped. "I WANT TO BUY MY SOUL BACK, DAMNIT!"  
"No need to yell, I'm not deaf."  
"Rrrr..."  
Kurt grinned. "Okay, okay. Let's go." And with an arm on his shoulder  
and a quick, {Bamf!} they were back in Kurt's room.  
Scott had to sit down because of the slight nausea that 'porting gave  
him, but at least he pretended to be cool about it. Then he had to  
pretend to be cool about Kurt fossicking through his thousands of little  
hiding places.  
"Soul, soul, soul," he mumbled as he went through his stuff. "I know I  
put it in a safe place... but which one, ja?"  
"Good hands, huh?" Scott mocked as soon as the dizziness passed. "You  
told me you'd look after it."  
"*You* didn't think it existed."  
"I changed my mind, okay? Isn't that allowed?"  
"So," said Kurt, who was examining the underside of his drawers, "If  
you get it back, what're you going to do with it?"  
"What do you mean *if* I get it back?"  
"I'm trying to remember where I put it, man. Chitchat helps me think.  
What're you going to do with it?"  
Scott hadn't really thought about that. "I dunno, really. Figure stuff  
out. Find someone who can *answer* *questions*..."  
"You wound me, mein fruend." Kurt climbed up to the chandallier and  
peered into its recesses. "So what questions are you going to ask?"  
Scott shrugged. "Guess I'd start with how to look after it. Care and  
maintenance kind of thing. Find out what happens after. That sort of  
thing."  
"Picked a church, yet?"  
"I'm *not* becoming a Catholic," said Scott, now well enough to look  
around the room. "No matter *what* you say. I mean, there's far too many  
people aro--huahahahhahhhh...."  
Kurt looked up from under the bed. "Scott? You okay?"  
There was a brand-new display in Kurt's room. Vintage swords. Two were  
crossed over a shield, while others were set out in a nice fan display  
underneath. It was in a glass-fronted walnut cabinet and represented all  
of Scott's plans going up in smoke.  
He pointed at the thing and squeaked.  
"Oh yeah. I meant to show you this. Isn't it cool?" Kurt leaped over  
to it and opened the door, taking out one of the swords and swooshing it  
in the air. "Have at thee!" he crowed, fencing an imaginary foe.  
He still pointed at the thing and squeaked.  
Kurt was humming some theme music from an ancient movie and playing  
with the sword. With a final, "HA!" he relaxed into his normal self.  
"Cool, eh?"  
"...g..." said Scott. "G-g-g-g-g-g..."  
"Something wrong?"  
"Gone..."  
"Vas?"  
"My soul. 'S gone..."  
Kurt snapped his fingers. "Oh, *that*! I'd nearly forgotten. Hold  
this," Kurt gave him the weapon, then the other sword, and removed the  
shield.  
There, in a clear plastic envelope, was that bloody stupid bloody  
contract. Kurt lifted it out and, holding it in his mouth, put  
everything else back.  
Scott watched that little piece of paper as if hypnotised.  
Kurt gestured with it. "Did you *honestly* think I'd be silly enough  
to sell this to anyone? Herr Professor decided to reward me a little  
early und got this for me behind mein back."  
"How much?"  
"Eh?"  
"How much do you want? For the soul?"  
"Scott... I don't *own* your soul. I can't."  
"I mean, you've been doing the whole care and maintenance thing,  
right?" Scott babbled. "There's got to be some appreciation of value and  
maybe we could start at three hundred and -- WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'CAN'T'?"  
"Your soul's *always* yours, man. I was just worried about its  
upkeep."  
"My head hurts," Scott murmured.  
"Here," Kurt put the contract between his unresisting hands. "Free of  
charge."  
"But - the one hundred dollars."  
"Some things are worth every penny," Kurt grinned. "You might also  
want this." He handed over a far heavier object.  
It was a simple black book with a cross on the cover. "What?"  
"Think of it as an owner's manual." Kurt helped him out of the room.  
"High time you read it, ja?"  
Scott found himself vigorously nodding. That little empty space, just  
*there* had filled right up again. He grinned like a fool. The world was  
beautiful.  
"Yup," said Kurt. "Best money I ever spent." 


	6. Part the Sixth: Opa's Brushes

Part the Sixth: Opa's Brushes  
  
{WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM!}  
"KURT! You'd better not be using all the hot water in there!"  
Kurt sighed. He tried to conserve hot water, but it was hard,  
especially in the springtime. He washed the last vestiges of shampoo  
from himself and hollered, "Almost done! Keep your shirt on!" as he  
turned the water off. Some people just did *not* understand the needs of  
a fuzzy blue mutant in the springtime. He towelled himself to mid-  
dampness before he forced a deliberate shiver along his skin. He never  
shook like a dog, but that little shiver was enough to drive the more  
persistant drips out of his fur.  
Unfortunately, it also loosened his fur. Well, it was going to fall  
out, anyway, and he was always careful not to leave any shed fur in the  
bathroom. Kurt wrapped the towel around his waist, grabbed his PJ's,  
yelled, "Next!" and bamfed into his room.  
It was one of the very few times he actually locked his door. Kurt was  
always embarressed when people saw him partially clothed, and there were  
certain aspects of his morning routine that he preferred to keep his  
little secret. Like Opa's brushes.  
Hank knew about them, because he'd come in late, one night, and asked  
a great deal of quietly embarressed questions about fur maintenance. How  
much shampoo, brushes versus combs, whether those 'slicker' things they  
sold in the pet shops were any good, that sort of thing.  
Kurt had taken pity on him and bought out the family treasure. They  
were originally one suit brush and one hair brush, but necessity had  
turned them both into fur brushes. Kurt had found the stiff bristles of  
the suit brush ideal for getting out knots and removing any fur that  
would come loose during the passage of the day. The softer hair brush,  
as Opa had put it, just added a little extra shine. It smoothed  
everything down and, whenever Kurt was stressed, provided a very  
theraputic massage.  
Hank would only ever borrow the suit brush. His fur was thicker and  
longer than Kurt's, and therefore more troublesome.  
Which was why Kurt was so confused to find both brushes missing, but  
the ebony comb he used to clean the fur out of them still in its place.  
He spent a full minute staring at the empty spot in his drawer in  
disbelief. After that minute, he touched the comb, just to be sure.  
Opa's brushes were gone.  
Kurt pulled on the first clean pair of boxers he could lay his hands  
on and immediately searched every spare corner of his room, and a few  
impossible corners because his mind had slipped into depths of  
desperation previously unplumbed. His room looked like a tornado hit it,  
and Opa's brushes were still gone.  
He struggled with the door for a handful of seconds before he  
remembered that he'd locked it so he could brush. Hyperventillating by  
now, he turned the key and launched himself up the hall. Not caring who  
saw him gallop, not caring where the shed fur flew. There was one other  
person who knew about the brushes and used them. Maybe he'd borrowed  
them, or was borrow*ing* them. It was, after all, spring.  
  
"HANK!"  
"Snx?" Hank McCoy surfaced from an otherwise pleasant slumber to face  
a hyperventillating fuzzy blue demon. Not the best of wake-up calls,  
especially after yet another disaster with the new mutants the previous  
evening. "Wsfgl?" he managed, groping for his glasses.  
"IneedtofindOpa'sbrushesdidyouborrowthem? Onlyit'sspringyouseeandI  
*really* needOpa'sbrushesbeforeIgetfureverywhereandhaveyouseenthem?"  
"Mmmfffff..." Hank stumbled out of bed. "Kurt, I'm barely awake, let  
alone sentient. Could you perhaps try putting spaces between the words?"  
"There'snotimeIgottafindOpa'sbrushesright*now*!"  
_Teenagers._ Hank yawned, still trying to stretch out various kinks in  
his musculature. _Everything's a disaster..._ Though judging by the  
small patch of blue where Kurt was standing, perhaps it *was* a  
disaster. "Spring?"  
"Spring," Kurt sighed.  
"My appologies, my hirsute compatriot, but I don't have your brushes.  
I suspect I'll have to borrow them, in due course, but--"  
"Haven'tgotthetimeseeyoulaterI'vegottafindOpa'sbrushes, bye!" He took  
off at a gallop, leaving a little cloud of precipitating fuzz behind  
him.  
Hank looked in his mirror and sighed, "It's going to be a *long*  
day..."  
  
Jean sighed. This had to be the third disembowelled couch she'd passed  
in as many minutes. The culprit was leaving a nice, clear trail of blue  
hairs everywhere. Heck, every time he stopped, he left a little fuzzy  
'shadow'.  
There were Kurt-shadows *everywhere*, all with little fan-patterns  
where his tail had lashed about.  
She spotted him at last, his rear end sticking out of a large,  
ornamental flowerpot.  
It was a sure portent of doom when Kurt wandered around the mansion  
clad in nothing but the yellow boxers with the smilie face on the butt.  
The way his tail was gyrating around, his rear rather resembled an  
elephant with something *seriously* wrong with it.  
There was a muffled, "Verdammt," from inside the pot, and the rest of  
him surfaced.  
"Kurt, what on Earth--?"  
"Have you seen them?" He was radiating panic, and almost entering a  
fuge state.  
"Seen what?"  
"Opa's brushes." Vividly clear, the image of them where they belonged,  
overlaid with thousands of memories. People connected with them.  
Emotions connected with them. Emotions connected with the people. All in  
a microsecond, intertwined with guilt and fear.  
"Ow. No..." _Mental note: telepaths should never ask panicking people  
about objects intricately involved in their lives._ Well, *that* sure as  
heck ruined *her* mood this morning.  
"Jean?" asked Scott as she entered the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"  
"I need asprin," she sighed, reaching for the bottle.  
Trepidation and anxiety started to seep from him. "Should I get the  
Professor?"  
"No, it's just a headache. I asked the wrong question at the wrong  
time and got a head-full."  
"Ouch."  
There was a distant, "Cute shorts. Put some pants on, willya?" down  
the hall. Rogue entered, muttering things about her half-brother that  
were mostly unprintable and involved heavy objects. "What the hell's up  
with *Kurt*?"  
"Opa's brushes, apparrently," Jean moaned. Having swallowed her  
painkiller, she was now rolling the cool glass over her forehead.  
"Whatever that means."  
"Is that a German thing, a gypsy thing or just a Kurt thing?" said  
Scott.  
"All of the above. Ow." Jean rested her head against the table. "The  
images and emotions were all jumbled up into this painful knot. It's  
integral to his entire *life*."  
"Oof," said Rogue. "Then I'm stayin' the hell away from him."  
"I wish *I* had," sighed Jean.  
  
Kitty looked again. No. He was still there in nothing but those stupid  
yellow shorts with the smilie on the rear. He was *still* digging  
through stuff and making an *extremely* un-Kurtish mess.  
"Like, what is *up* with you?"  
"Bursten Opa werden gegangen," he said, nearly running the words  
together. "Mussen Bursten Opa finden..."  
Kitty tsked and rolled her eyes. "Can't you like, panic in *English*?"  
Kurt stopped what he was doing and stared at her. Those were the eyes  
of an elf staring down the abyss. If he wasn't going to go nuts, then he  
was going to drive everyone else there in trying.  
"Like, forget I said anything," she edged away from him. "Like, go  
nuts. Save yourself the time or whatever."  
He sprang away, muttering to himself.  
Just when Kitty recovered her breath, she heard, "EW! Put some *pants*  
on, dude!" Evan rounded the corner, also in shock and disbelief. "Man,  
there are just some things you *never* want to see, first thing in the  
morning."  
"I like, hear you," said Kitty. "Don't think of purple walrusses."  
"*What*?"  
"It always like, takes your mind off of anything huge. Don't think of  
purple walrusses."  
Evan made a face, obviously thinking of unusually coloured wildlife.  
"See?" Kitty skipped downstairs to breakfast.  
Just about everyone was downstairs and discussing Cyclone Kurt. He'd  
evidently spent all morning tearing up like, the entire mansion. For  
someone so obsessed about being 'decent', he sure went downhill in a  
hurry.  
"Anyone know what 'bursten opa' means?" Kitty asked. "He wouldn't  
like, stop saying it a few minutes ago."  
"Opa's brushes," said Ororo. "He's very upset about them for some  
reason."  
"Stupid peasant," mumbled Amara. "Why does he have to share his misery  
with *us*?"  
"I don't think he's doing it on purpose," speculated Evan. "He looked  
kinda - wild around the eyes."  
"Yeah. That was like, some serious panicking, up there."  
"Any reason why he's running around in those shorts?" said Ray.  
There was a tableful of shrugs.  
"*OW*! Elf!" Logan yelled.  
"Have you seen them anywhere?"  
Cyclone Kurt was striking again. He wasn't even apologising for  
peripheral damage, and that *was* a danger sign. There were sounds of a  
brief scuffle.  
Logan dragged Kurt into breakfast by the scruff of his neck. "I don't  
wanna know who did it or why, but things had better be back to normal  
before sunset or we're *all* doing a little survival training. *My*  
way."  
Every kid in the room swallowed nervously. Everyone except Kurt, who  
was spaced out and trying to get Logan to let go.  
Logan forced Kurt into a seat. "Sit," he commanded. "Eat. *Then*,  
we'll talk."  
"...gegangen," Kurt murmured, still staring into space. "Gegangen,  
gegangen..."  
Logan growled, dumped several foodstuffs onto a plate, and shoved it  
under Kurt's nose. "*Eat*."  
Kurt stared at the plate. "These aren't Opa's brushes," he whispered,  
then ducked under the table.  
Kitty surruptitiously hiked her legs up, out of his way, and tried to  
ignore the mumbling litany from somewhere beneath the tablecloth. _Just  
don't think about purple walrusses,_ she told herself.  
"Man," Scott whispered. "When *Kurt* doesn't want to eat, it's  
*serious*."  
Professor Xavier joined them. "Sorry I took so long,"  
"Professor," Kitty breathed. "Like, help? Kurt's gone like, totally  
nuts."  
"I know. Something important to him has gone missing. Kurt? If you'd  
come out of there, I'd like to help."  
Kurt was still mumbling when he emerged. "Bursten Opa. Bursten Opa  
werden gegangen. Gegangen, gegangen, gegangen. Ganz gegangen. Ich kann  
nicht sie finden. Mussen Bursten Opa finden. Sie werden gegangen..."  
Xavier moved a vacant chair out from the table. "Shhh," he soothed.  
"Sit. Try to relax."  
Kurt sat, but he looked at the Professor as if he expected him to  
levitate on his own.  
"Concentrate on what they look like. *Just* what they look like. I  
need to show the others who haven't seen them."  
Kurt closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to  
fall asleep.  
"Good. Thank you, Kurt." The Professor opened a bottle that he'd had  
in his pocket and shook out a little white pill. "Take this. It's going  
to help."  
Blank and empty-looking, Kurt obeyed.  
"Hank, when Kurt starts to drowse, will you take him to the hospital  
wing? He's in heavy shock and we need to keep an eye on him."  
"What did you give him," asked Scott. "A sleeping pill?"  
"Codine," said the Professor, "and paracetamol. Kurt's metabolism is  
so high that any drug would hit him fast and hard."  
As if to prove his point, Kurt began nodding off. "Got to find 'em,"  
he muttered, half asleep. "...gotta find..." and, with a final sigh, he  
nearly fell out of his chair.  
Hank caught him. "Fast and hard, indeed." He quietly slipped out while  
the Professor lectured the room.  
An image formed in front of them. Kitty knew it was a telepathic  
projection, but she still tried to reach out and touch them.  
They were beautiful.  
They looked like giant currycombs, or hair brushes without any  
handles. Both had a coat of arms inlaid on the back. One, the softer  
looking one, had a scar in the varnish, running across the German motto.  
She could tell at a glance that they were old, and very well cared for.  
"They're a priceless heirloom," informed the Professor. "Given to  
Kurt's family a long time ago, and absolutely irreplaceable. Kurt uses  
them to -er- groom, and since he hasn't been able to do so, this  
morning..." Xavier fumbled, trying to find the right politically correct  
phrase.  
"There's blue fuzz everywhere he's been," Scott finished. "We all know  
Kurt's touchy about shedding, so let's find these things before he wakes  
up and goes beserk. Full room inspection. No exceptions. Right now."  
  
They tidied up Kurt's room for him, secretly shocked that one boy  
could turn everything so upside down in so little time. He'd even  
disassembled his *bed*.  
Great clouds of blue fuzz drifted in the breeze whenever they shook  
out something. He had to have been pretty hyper to wreak that much chaos  
and mess. No metaphorical stone was left unturned.  
No-one had the brushes. They checked every room, even though they had  
to get ready for school in the process.  
The Professor phoned Bayville high and cited a 'family crisis' as the  
reason Kurt would be absent from school. The truth, that he couldn't  
help leaving shed fur everywhere, would not have gone over well. Neither  
would the shed fur.  
  
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"  
Scott ignored the chanting, glaring at Lance. "All you have to do is  
tell the truth, Alvers. Which one of you took them?"  
"I haven't even got the faintest clue what you're talking about,  
Summers. Bug off."  
"Quit pretending to be innocent, we *know* they're not in the mansion.  
Who *else* could have taken them?"  
"Leave us alone, shades-boy."  
"Yo, we ain't done nuthin'. Recently, anyway."  
"They're telling the truth," said Jean. "I can feel it."  
"This isn't over, Alvers."  
"What *ever*..."  
They each stalked their seperate ways, much to the crowd's  
disapointment. Tensions were high between the Institute kids and the  
boarding house kids. Everyone could feel it, but the fighting was  
usually kept to a minimum. It was a rare thing when they actually came  
to blows, and lots of wierd stuff happened when they did.  
Funny thing, though, no-one could exactly remember *what* wierd stuff  
went on.  
  
Sometimes, serendipity steps in. In this case, if it hadn't, things  
would have continued to go awry for a very long time.  
Kitty, worried about Kurt and how everyone at the Institute was coping  
with a shocky elf, had forgotten that there was a test on. She turned  
back to her locker and covered the distance between the door and her  
locker to get her trusty No2 pencil.  
She almost ignored Amara fixing her hair, until she noticed what she  
was fixing her hair *with*.  
It looked like a giant currycomb, and Kitty could see glimpses of  
coloured wood inlaid in its back.  
_That sneaky, stuck-up little--_ Kitty didn't have the words for it.  
_Sorry, Kurt. I have a test to pass._ She could talk to the others  
later. Kitty ran to her class, feeling more than a little guilt at  
knowing something the others couldn't. _Concentrate, Pryde,_ she  
scolded. _Your grade average could slip. Don't think of purple  
walrusses._  
There. *That* like, worked.  
  
It was warm, and somebody loved him. Kurt always felt that way when  
someone brushed him. All his cares, all his fears and worries, and  
sometimes, even a little pain, could be brushed away along with any shed  
fur. The steady rythm and the feel of the bristles was all he needed for  
the nightmares to go away.  
Kurt didn't want to open his eyes, because part of him knew that if he  
did, it would all turn out to be a dream. This way, he could immerse  
himself in the memories, treasure them and wrap them around himself like  
one of Oma's knitted blankets in the wintertime. Here, with his eyes  
shut, he could pretend everything was all right.  
He couldn't remember the first time he was ever brushed, but he knew  
the story by heart. How Mama and Papa were at their wit's end trying to  
figure out why baby Kurt kept crying. How he was too young to teethe,  
how he'd been thoroughly fed and changed, how he'd protested all the  
more when they tried to bathe him. How they'd walked and walked, wearing  
out their arms, trying to get him to calm down. And then, how Opa  
offered to take their crying boy for a little while, and let them rest.  
And how all of a sudden, the crying stopped. Mama and Papa crept in to  
where Opa and baby Kurt were, and saw him brushing the boy's lazuline  
fur with his antique hair brush.  
Opa had just smiled and said, "I guess he doesn't like tangles."  
Kurt's earliest memories were similar, but Kurt had been older. He  
loved being brushed, and dearly anticipated the times when the big man  
with the walrus moustache and the shiny scalp would pat his knee and  
say, "Come, lad. Let's put a shine on that coat, yes?" And then - ah,  
bliss - Opa would carefully take out every tangle or burr with the old  
suit brush, and gently 'work up a polish' with the soft hair brush.  
He had Kurt completely fooled for years; because whenever he raced off  
to find a mirror to see his 'polish', it would be, "Whup. You moved. You  
went and shook it off."  
Every Spring, when the circus packed up to go touring, Kurt would  
borrow Opa's brushes to keep him 'shiny' all Summer. Every Autumn, Kurt  
would give them back, only to have Opa press them into his hands again.  
"You hang onto them for me," the old man would say, tapping his naked  
scalp. "I hardly have any use for them." And they'd hug and swap stories  
while Opa 'polished' Kurt's fur for him.  
Then there was the Autumn when Kurt was nine years old, and Opa wasn't  
home any more. Oma said it was an anurism, and he'd gone out like a  
light. There was nothing anyone could have done.  
She said the brushes belonged to him, after that. They were his.  
But they weren't. They were Opa's brushes. Now and forever.  
It was his way of remembering, of keeping the love between them, as  
Opa's brushes made him as shiny as a new coin.  
  
Ororo had succumbed to temptation and ran her hair brush along Kurt's  
fur. She didn't know if she was crossing some invisible line, but Kurt  
and his lovely, soft fur practically begged to be touched and groomed.  
And, since the painkiller had apparrently knocked him into next week,  
he wasn't going to be grooming himself, right now.  
She'd been mildly surprised by the little smile. She was *definitely*  
surprised by the purr, but she felt rewarded for her boldness. Ororo  
continued, keeping strictly to the G-rated areas, and wondered how his  
mother could have borne to abandon him.  
"...glanzend als neue Munze, Opa..." Kurt mumbled, frightening the  
life out of her.  
After a minute or so, she decided he'd been talking in his sleep, and  
continued her work. His purr was semi-hypnotic, and thoroughly  
entrancing, and that sweet smile made *her* want to adopt him. No wonder  
everyone wanted to look after him. There were moments like this when he  
was endearingly vulnerable, and made one almost forget the other moments  
when he got up to diabolical mischief that bordered on artistry.  
_That's our elf,_ she mentally sighed. _One minute you could strangle  
him, the next you want to hug him until the hurt goes away._  
Kurt stretched and murmured in his sleep, letting out his breath in a  
greatful sigh.  
_That sigh aught to get me out of a few years of Purgatory,_ Ororo  
smiled, moving around his bed so she could brush the other side. _I  
wonder if I could make him do it again._  
He really was shedding terribly. Ororo had to stop every now and again  
to chase fur out of her brush.   
She remembered the time Evan had 'helped' in the laundry by shoving  
some washing in the dryer and not mentioning it to anyone. There was a  
chinchilla sweater in that particular wash that belonged to Kitty and,  
unlike most of her things, was blue.  
It disintegrated into fluff so fine that the dryer's filters couldn't  
catch it, and the laundry was ankle-deep in fuzz by the time Ororo  
discovered the mess. At the time, there had only been *one* blue, fuzzy  
individual in the house, and he'd received the blame. Kurt had been  
extremely offended that anyone could think he'd shed that much *or* be  
that inconsiderate about it. His diatribe went on and on about it, even  
though he was busy sweeping up the debris.  
Then Kitty had come in and demanded to know who had done what to her  
new sweater.  
Kurt had glared at Ororo until she apologised. Later, he told her  
exactly *how* careful he was not to leave fur anywhere. There was  
nothing more irritating, he'd said, than discarded fur in wierd little  
places. It *itched*.  
Therefore, Ororo was now very cautious as to where she dumped the  
brushloads of shed fur.  
Kurt rolled on to his side, and purred all the louder when she did his  
back. So few people voluntarily touched him, but when they did, he never  
fought that contact. He never said anything, one way or the other, about  
how he felt; but Ororo had to wonder if he secretly craved or spurned a  
human touch.  
Ororo finally ran out of fur to groom, and spent a few idle moments  
picking every last hair out of her brush. The stuff *was* very  
pernicious. Light, soft, and prone to be caught on even the slightest of  
zephyrs, it would get everywhere if it went unchecked.  
Then Kurt scared the life out of her a second time. "Dankeshoen,  
Frau'," he said in a very clear voice. "It's been too long."  
"You're awake?" she managed. "I - hope I didn't offend you?"  
He rolled back over so he could face her. "You're kidding me. I love  
it. Feels like home." He was still drowsy, his eyelids heavy and his  
voice close to a sleepy whisper. "I'm always a little nervous about  
asking."  
As far as she knew, he'd never said a word about it to anyone. "A  
little?" she teased.  
"Okay. A lot embarressed." He closed his eyes for a little while.  
"Thank you for volunteering."  
"Any time," Ororo whispered.  
"...hope so," Kurt managed before falling back to sleep.  
Ororo patted his hand, and tsked as it came away covered in loose fur.  
Opa's brushes must be the only ones that had the knack of getting all  
the loose fur out for the day.  
_I hope they find them soon,_ she thought. _I don't like the idea of a  
Kurt-sized vacuuming job. I doubt he would, either._  
  
Amara came back to her locker prior to leaving school, only to  
discover the rest of the X-men waiting for her.  
_Damn. They must have found out._  
"You can *bet* we found out," said Jean. "What I'd like to know is how  
you managed it."  
"I fail to see why you're all angry. They were probably stolen in the  
first place. The whole *pack* of them are nothing but bootless gypsies."  
"Like, way to dig yourself deeper, 'princess'," Kitty scowled.  
"Come *on*. You and I both know that something that valuable doesn't  
belong in the posession of a mere *peasant*. I was simply restoring the  
order of things."  
"Can I *please* knock her into next week?" Kitty begged. "Pleeeaaase?"  
Jean had a very nasty smile on. "No, I have a better idea. I'm going  
to give her a little taste of what she's done to others."  
"What?" said Amara. And then her world turned upside down.  
  
Lock the door. Don't want anyone to see. What would they think? They'd  
laugh. People always laugh at things like this. Forget it. Forget. Get  
on with the day. Finish cleaning up. Reach for Opa's brushes and smile,  
remembering Opa. But they're gone.  
No.  
Can't be real. Dreaming. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE *UP*!  
Got to find them. Not here. Not there. Get some clothes on. Those.  
They'll do. Only take them off again when I find them. Ach, I'm starting  
to *itch*... verdammt Springtime shed. Hurry. Hurry. I can't stand  
myself.  
Hank! Maybe Hank knows. He needs them too. Door won't work! Help! Oh.  
Locked. Yes. Go find Hank.  
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic  
Not there. Not there. Not there. Have to be somewhere...  
panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic  
Can't have *lost* them. They're everything. They're the only ones that  
*work* on me. Can't have lost them on Opa. He'd be so mad. Got to find  
them. Got to fix it. Make everything better.  
Brush the nightmares away.  
Where *are* they?  
wherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewherewhere  
So itchy. Can't stop. Got to find them. Oh, Opa, I'm so sorry.  
Not there. Not there. Got to find them. Sweating. Have to bathe again  
and I'm shedding *everywhere* and I can't *stand* it! Help.  
Help.  
helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme  
Help...  
  
"...hilfe..." Amara whimpered. She'd curled up into a ball and was  
crying.  
"That's just a little taste of Kurt's morning," said Jean. "Do you  
want more, or are you going to give them back, now?"  
Amara lunged for her locker, her hands were shaking as she spun the  
dial. There, hidden behind her ethics textbook, were the brushes that  
were too ornate for a filthy peasant.  
But Kurt hadn't *been* filthy until his brushes had 'gone missing'. In  
fact, he was nearly obsessed with being clean. For his entire life.  
Kitty snatched them out of her hands. "You totally deserve everything  
the Professor's going to give you," she growled.  
  
Alone.  
Alone was cold. Even if he wasn't wearing just his shorts because he  
couldn't stand to be clothed while he was unkempt, he'd still be cold  
and shivering. Everyone had other places to be, after the Professor said  
he'd be fine.  
But he wasn't fine. He was a long way from fine. Fine kept  
disappearing into the distance like the end of the hallway in one of  
those 'chase' nightmares.  
Calm down. Calm. Stop walking circles in the carpet.  
He looked down. It looked like a slightly colourblind alien had been  
trying to do crop circles. The Professor didn't know very much about  
Kurt's state of mind if he said he was going to be fine.  
Breathe. Try to relax. Maybe the others will have news.  
He shivered. So cold.  
So lonely.  
So *hungry*. He felt like a betrayer for wanting to eat. For filling  
his face when put up against such a disaster. He couldn't look at food,  
but his stomach, his traitor, was howling for it.  
He was pacing again, trying not to hyperventillate. Rubbing his arms,  
as if that could do any good against the chill that only he could feel.  
{Knock, knock.}  
"It's unlocked." It was always unlocked, except when he was getting  
himself changed or - or brushed. "You can come in."  
He watched the door open, saw the assembled crowd. Saw the distinctive  
objects in Kitty's hands...  
"You *found* them!" And the next thing he knew, his arms and legs were  
wrapped around her torso, his tail clung tight to Opa's brushes, and he  
was saying three words over and over again. "I love you, I love you, I  
love you..."  
  
Kitty didn't know what hit her. She could only ever analyse what went  
on in slow motion, much, *much* later. Kurt screamed out, "You found  
them!" and leaped towards her. He *had* been clear on the other side of  
the *room*, but he somehow managed to cross the space between them in  
one bound.  
He landed in a rib-crushing hug, knocking her off her feet and the  
brushes out of her hands. His tail caught them in mid-air, before they  
even had a chance to descend, and then his legs wrapped themselves  
around her waist.  
Then she was staring at the ceiling and listening to a hyperactive  
blue fuzzy mutant saying, "I love you," like a broken record.  
_Jean? How do I get him off? How do I get *up*?_  
Jean raised an eyebrow. _Right now,_ she said through their telepathic  
link, _there's only one thing that'll calm him down._  
_Oh no._  
_Bet you can guess. Starts with a 'B'._  
_Oh, *no*..._  
_He's in no state to brush himself..._  
_At least get us to his dresser?_  
_Not a problem._  
Invisible hands supported her and her babbling burden all the way to  
Kurt's dresser. Kitty eventually pried the brushes away from his tail  
and uncoupled the matched pair. _Now what?_ she thought.  
_Start with the stiffer brush and go with the grain. Good luck._  
Kitty held the brush in question in her hand and gingerly followed  
Jean's instructions. After a few false starts, she got the hang of it  
and Kurt started to relax. He even let them sit in a more normal  
position.  
Then there was this noise, like a low rumble of thunder. It came and  
went in a continuous cycle. She could even feel it.  
_OmyGod..._ It was *him*. "Kurt, you're like, totally purring!" she  
blurted.  
"...always purr when I'm happy," he said, his voice kind of wobbling  
because of the purr. "I can't help it."  
Kitty had to smile. She'd made someone's bummer of a day turn into  
something fantastic. That always put her spirits up. He stretched and  
angled himself under her touch, guiding her to little itchy spots which,  
when she brushed them, made him sigh with relief and purr all the  
louder.  
He was like, totally appealing like this. She didn't even mind  
cleaning the brush out like, every ten strokes or so.  
"Kurt, why didn't you like, *tell* someone about this?"  
"Mmmm?" his eyes opened a slit. He must have been dozing. "I guess I  
was embarressed." He arched into another sweep of the brush. "Besides, I  
think you said you thought back hair was 'hideola'."  
Kitty blushed. "Yeah... but you have *fur*. It's different."  
"Can't get much more different than me," he sighed. "Oh, just there.  
Don't stop, please. Aaaaaahhhhh..."  
_God, his smile's *gorgeous* when he does that._ "So, um. Did you mean  
it?"  
"Vas?"  
"What you said when you tackled me in the hall. You know. That you  
love me." Kitty could feel her blush deepening, and spreading out.  
"Jawohl, meine Leibe. Immer."  
"Um..." said Kitty.  
Kurt provided a translation, "Yes, my love. Always." He smiled. "*And*  
it's not just because you're brushing me. Though I must admit it helps.  
It's because of everything you are. Because your smile makes you light  
up. Because you shine like the moon."  
Kitty's jaw was hanging open. "Like. Wow."  
  
Jean grinned to herself as she journeyed into the library. She adored  
playing cupid, sometimes.  
"Ahem," said the Professor. He raised an eyebrow and tapped on his  
wheelchair arm as he quoted, "He's in no state to brush himself?"  
Jean managed a sick giggle. "I was just helping her change her mind.  
She really makes him happy, you know? And he'd be good for her."  
"Quite," drawled the Professor. "Your new job is to be their chaperone  
until they're *both* no longer underage. Understood?"  
Sigh. "Yes, Professor." _Three years of watching them moon over each  
other. Ow._  
_Exactly,_ said the Professor.  
  
It was warm, and he was loved.  
"Um. Fuzzy? I can't like, reach your legs from here."  
Kurt managed to stir himself from a deliriously happy torpor. He was  
still grinning like a fool, but that wasn't going to stop any time soon.  
"That's all right. I'll lie on the bed for you." He caught her scent on  
the comforter as he crawled into position. "Thanks for making it for me,  
by the way."  
"What? How did you--"  
Kurt smiled. "My nose isn't as good as Wolverine's, but I get by." He  
sighed as Kitty began to work on his legs, smoothing out tangles and  
turfing out loose fur. He felt very warm, and very loved. "If you don't  
want to do this, you don't have to," he said. He had to give her a way  
out if she wanted one. He'd never force anyone to do this.  
"No, I *want* to brush you. Makes me feel like I can do something to  
make *you* feel nice for a change. You always like, make me feel so  
*good* about myself, you know? It's like, you make me shine."  
Very loved. "Hmmmm..."  
"I think I love you, too." She started on his other leg.  
"Ah, wunderbar," Kurt sighed. "I'm quite willing to wait until you  
know for sure, leibe. I'll never force you to do anything you don't want  
to do."  
"That puts you ahead of like, every other guy in the universe  
already," Kitty giggled. "Thank God you're not one of those jerks who  
think they *own* people." She ran the brush down his tail.  
*Very* warm.  
She had no idea how sensitive it was. Kurt moaned as all his muscles  
turned to jelly and wonderful, erotic sparkles travelled up and down his  
body. Part of him wanted her to never stop, while another part knew too  
well that they were both far too young for any of the top ten  
shennanigans his back-brain was screaming out for.  
Kitty took it as a sign of approval and picked up his tail to do the  
underside.  
_Leiber Gott..._ He'd only ever brushed his tail with the *soft*  
brush. All he could do was lie there and moan. When Kitty finally  
stopped, he could hardly hear above his ragged breathing and the blood  
sizzling in his ears. _Oh, the feel of her *hands*..._ It was all he  
could do to stop his tail wrapping around her digits and playing in  
them. Verdammt thing had a mind of its own.  
"Kurt? You okay? Did I do it wrong?"  
"Oooohhhh, Katzchen. Oh, leibe... You have no idea. *Ohhhh*..."  
He felt *extremely* warm, and *very* lov*ing*.  
_We're too young,_ he told himself. _We're way too young. Too young.  
Kids. Kinder. Far too young. But *Gott*, that felt so *good*! Stop  
that!_  
Kitty actually figured it out. "Oooops..." She was extremely pink,  
now. "Overdid it, huh?"  
"Very," sighed Kurt, "very sensitive tail. Lots and lots of nerve  
endings. Oohhhhh... We use the *soft* brush on the tail, Schatz."  
"So... like, asking you to roll over so I can like, do your front is  
totally out."  
"Ja. Unless we both want to die of embarressment."  
"Sorry."  
"You couldn't know."  
"If it'll help? Try not thinking of purple walrusses."  
"*Vas*?"  
Kitty smiled. "It always helps to take your mind off of things. Like,  
don't think of purple walrusses."  
"Leibe, you have a very strange mind."  
"Says the man who brushes his butt-crack," joked Kitty.  
Kurt was starting to feel normal enough to try a coy pose. "Vas? *You*  
want to have a go at brushing mein butt-crack?"  
"No... but I would like to kiss you."  
Their lips met.  
He was warm, and loved. 


	7. Part the Seventh: Red Dye 366

Part the Seventh: Red Dye 366  
  
[Author's Note: For those of you who are unaware, red dye number 366 is  
the colour most often responsible for hyperactive outbursts in kids.  
This is the crux of the following tale :) ]  
  
Hank added the Kool-Aid powder to the warm water and stirred it in. To  
anyone else, mixing warm Kool-Aid was an insane thing to do, but he was  
a *scientist*. The powder would dissolve more thoroughly in the warmer  
liquid, which would, in turn, be cooled to more appropriate temperatures  
- and diluted - by the shaved ice he planned to add. By the time he was  
done, he'd have a *perfect* jug of Kool-Aid for the kids.  
Hank added the ice, stirring it into ruby-red slush with a smile. He  
should have made enough for everyone.  
Kurt staggered in from outside. He was dripping wet and his swimming  
trunks clung to his frame. "Ah, wunderbar!" He sighed, siezed the jug,  
and downed its contents in one go. "Dankeshoen, mein Herr. I *really*  
needed that." And he staggered back out again.  
_I forgot. This is a residence full of mutants. I should have a tanker  
bought in._ He let the empty packet go, completely ignoring the warning  
on the back.  
It said: Contains Red Dye 366. May aggravate cases of hyperactivity.  
  
Kurt grinned as he floated in the pool. That drink really hit the  
spot. He hardly felt the heat at all. He felt great. An oddity in the  
Summertime, when opressive heat tended to opress him further because of  
the fur coat.  
In fact, for the first Summer in *years*, he felt like actually  
*playing*.  
And the game was *not* Marco Polo.  
Grinning, Kurt took a breath and slipped beneath the surface of the  
water. This was going to be fun.  
  
"So then I said, like no *way* are you eating that. And then he like  
*did*?"  
"Ew," Jubilee said appreciatively. "Guys are gross."  
"Some are grosser than others. It was like a PB and J crossed with a  
BLT? I mean like, *gross*, right? Then he stops halfway through and adds  
like, *pickles*."  
"*EW*!"  
"I swear, sometimes Kurt is so totally -- AIEK!" Kitty jumped about a  
foot. "What the hell was *that*?"  
Jubes looked around. "What? What?"  
"Something like, brushed up against my leg."  
"AAAAA!" Amara shrieked.  
Ororo yipped.   
Rogue yelped, "*Ow*! Who's the goose?"  
"You were like, goosed?"  
Jubilee screamed and jumped so high she practically walked on the  
water for a few seconds. All the girls searched the water for the enemy,  
and only found Kurt, blowing a whale-spout while he was drifting  
spreadeagled in the water.  
Poor Kurt. After a certain point in a Summer's day, all he did was  
kind of lie there and moan. Heat was not his friend.  
The only others visible were having a water weenie war all over the  
volleyball court. Bobby was cheating, but no-one minded because they  
welcomed the cold.  
"Okay," Kitty announced at last, "That was like, strange."  
"Mmm-hm," said Jubilee.  
"And speaking of strange, did you know that Kurt *actually*..."  
There was another scream. This time it was Rahne, and she was picking  
the remains of a slushball from her hair. "You great daft muckle sumph!"  
"Sor-reee!"  
"Honestly. It gets to be that a girl can't enjoy a good, honest soak  
in the -- *YYEEEEEEEK*!"  
"*Ow*," said Rogue. "What the--?"  
"Screet!"  
"Yipe!"  
"What is it? What *is* it?"  
{Pfoooofff...} Kurt blew another whale-spout.  
Jean was glaring in his direction, her arms folded. "I think I smell a  
rat," she said. "A big, blue, fuzzy rat."  
"You're like, *kidding*. It's after eleven. All he's like, good for is  
floating in the pool and going, 'leiber Gott, it's hot' like, every five  
minutes."  
Jubilee shrieked.  
Jean concentrated and put her hand over the water.  
A grinning fuzzy menace surfaced with an insane little cackle. His  
tail flipped and twisted, vigorously showering water on anyone within a  
ten-foot radius.  
"Just *what* is your demented little game?" Rogue demanded.  
"Sharky, Sharky," Kurt grinned. "But now it's cannonball."  
{Bamf!}  
"Weeehoo!"  
{SPLASH!}  
{Blmf...} This time, the sound of his teleport was muffled by the  
water. "Weeeehoo!" {SPLASH!}  
This went on for a minute.  
"Doesn't he like, usually have a tough time 'porting upwards?"  
"Usually," Jean said. "His mind's kind of - scattershot at the moment.  
His thoughts are all over the map, I can hardly make any sense out of  
them."  
"Waterweenies! Wheeee!"  
"Damn. He's only like this at dawn," said Rogue.  
"How do *you* know?"  
"Oh, right. I forgot. You can actually *sleep* through a barrage of  
water balloons at the crack of dawn."  
"Okay. Like, that explains the recurring dream about like, bugs the  
size of tennis balls like, hitting my windshield during a driver's ed  
test..."  
"You're really twisted, you know that?"  
"Shut up, Jubes."  
"Hey, girls!"  
{Sproooooossshhh!}  
"We're already *wet* fuzz-for-brains!"  
"I wasted my weenie!" Kurt cried out in anguish, then gallopped off  
with a manic grin.  
"Whew," Kitty sighed. "Glad that's like, over."  
Logan screamed in the distance.  
Kurt came gallopping back and dived headlong into the water.  
"If he starts playing 'Sharky, Sharky' again, I'm gonna kill him,"  
said Rogue.  
"All right! Which one of you little punks launched a water bomb at  
me?"  
Kitty had to giggle.  
Kurt hadn't loaded the balloon with water. It was milk, and judging by  
it's -er- chunkyness, it wasn't exactly *fresh* milk either.  
Like anyone could get their hands on it otherwise, with Evan around.  
{Pffoooooossshhh!} Kurt surfaced, blowing yet another whale-spout.  
Logan went stalking off in the direction of the showers, muttering  
about what he was going to do to the jerk who dumped sour milk on him.  
"*Heee*heeheeheehee..." Kurt giggled, and submerged again.  
"That's it, I'm gettin' out of the pool."  
There was a general exodus.  
Kurt surfaced again. "Awwww..."  
"No Sharky, Sharky!" Jean scolded. "Bad Elf! Bad!"  
"*Some*body needs a huggie," sang Kurt. {Bamf!} He was on Jean in a  
cold second. "Huggie huggie!"  
"AUGH! Wet fur. Ew. Getoffame!"  
Kurt then proceeded to chase the girls around the pool whilst yelling,  
"Huggie huggie! Youse needs a huggie!"  
Storm and Jean levitated out of his range.  
"There's something *wrong* with that boy," said Ororo.  
{Bamf! Splut!} "Huggie!" Kurt had teleported above her and landed on  
her for the embrace.  
Ororo shrieked, lost control and landed them both in the water.  
"WHEEEEEEE!" Kurt bounded out of the water and gambolled about the  
pool edge. "*I* wants *huggies*!"  
"If Wolverine doesn't kill him," Storm announced, "*I* will."  
"Hug hug hug hug *huggie*!" Kurt sang, narrowly missing being  
pummelled by the guys by millimetres and microseconds. "Everybody needs  
a huggie!"  
"*Nobody* needs a face-full of wet fur," said Scott, spitting in  
disgust. "Ew. Some went in my *mouth*..."  
"Kitty kitty kitty kittycat?" Kurt climbed up a tree. "Wo bist meine  
Katzchen? *She* needs a *huggie*!"  
Kitty quietly crept out of his sight. "Like, if anyone needs me? I'm  
like, hiding in the basement."  
The Professor wheeled out into the open. "What's all the noise?"  
"CHUCKIE! Chuckie needs huggies!" {Bamf! Splut!}  
"Ack! *Kurt*!"  
"*Heeee*heeheeheeheeheeheehee..."  
"I made another jug of Kool-Aid for everyone," announced Hank.  
"Assuming we can keep it away from--"  
{Bamf! Splut!} "Huggie!"  
"--Kurt."  
"Youse gets *extra* huggies for the nicenice drinkies!"  
"Swell," Hank sarcasmed.  
"Hug hug hug hug hug huggitty hug hug huggie..."  
"Is that red Kool-Aid?" said Scott. "*Please* tell me it isn't the red  
Kool-Aid from the back storeroom?"  
"Er..."  
"...huggie huggie huggie..."  
"Aw *man*... You didn't. *Please* tell me you didn't..."  
The Professor raised an eyebrow and steepled his fingers. "Scott? What,  
exactly, is wrong with--"  
"Kurt drank a glass of it last week. You know; right before the noodle  
incident?"  
"Just out of interest," said Hank, somewhat nervously. "What would two  
gallons do?"  
"Oh dear Lord. We have to tie him down. *Now*."  
"You're no fun," Kurt complained. "*I* know someone who's fun!"  
{Bamf!} he was gone.  
"Great. Someone's going to get a wet hyperactive elf in their lap. How  
the hell do we find him?"  
"Follow the screaming, maybe?" said Jean.  
  
"Honestly, this is the *last* freakin' time I'm taking *any* of you  
loosers grocery shopping," Lance slammed the door on his SUV.  
"...javajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajava..." said Pietro.  
"...sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar..." said Todd.  
"I just turned my back for a second, honest," said Fred, who had both  
mutants pinned under each arm. "Next thing I knew - vtt - they were  
gone!"  
"...javajavajavajavajavajavajavajava..."  
"...sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar..."  
"We're just lucky nobody *saw* anything," Lance sighed, untangling his  
keys. "I swear, it's a relief to get - home..."  
He'd opened the front door during his speech, and was staring into the  
maw of chaos.  
"Holy crap on a raft," whispered Fred.  
"...javajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajava..."  
"...sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar..."  
There was red sticky stuff all over the walls. It dripped from the  
ceiling and spattered all over the floor. TP was draped in a quasi  
artistic fashion from the light fixture. Take-out containers were pinned  
to the roof with various cooking implements.  
Lance dropped his keys. "...I didn't know you could *do* that with a  
spatula..." he whimpered.  
"Did Tabby do this?" Fred wondered.  
"You're kidding, lard-brain. This isn't her style." With that thought  
out of his mouth, his brain finally kicked into gear. "Shit! Tabby's in  
there!" He ran into the mess, ignoring the intensly artistic things  
someone had done with Spaghetti-O's, fruit loops, the mysterious red  
stuff, canned ravioli and what looked to be Pietro's entire lollipop  
supply. "Tabby! Tabby where are you!"  
"Whoah," said Fred. "You should see what they did to the lounge room  
ceiling. It's kinda pretty."  
"...sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar..."  
"...javajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajava..."  
"TABBY!"  
There was a frightened little whimper. Lance followed it back  
downstairs, and opened the door it seemed to be coming from.  
"Tabby? What are you doing in the stairway closet? Pretending to be  
Harry Potter?"  
Tabatha had wide, frightened eyes, a twitch under one eyelid, and a  
shiver. "SHHH! You can't let him find me," she whispered. "Gotta stay  
hidden. He'll get bored and go away. Yah. Go away. Nice blue. Go away.  
Don' need you any mo'..."  
"Tabby?"  
She was spattered in the red junk, and a few noodles were tangled in  
her hair.  
"...the horror... the horror..."  
"Who *did* this?"  
Then there was one of those Classic Horror Movie Moments. Lance felt  
his hackles rise. _If this *was* a horror film,_ he thought, _a thousand  
violins would be being plucked to get that creepy, plicketty-plicketty  
sound track._  
Something was breathing down his neck.  
There was a cloyingly sweet odour.  
"Oh God! He's still here!" Tabby shrieked. "He's still *here*!"  
Lance, despite his instincts to the contrary, turned.  
"hElLo, HeLlO," there was a demented blue elf hanging from the ceiling  
and devouring Raspberry-Cherry Kool-Aid straight from the packet. "HaVe  
YoU cOmE tO pLaY?"  
_His mutations have finally driven him insane,_ Lance thought.  
Kurt grinned, showing off teeth that were stained bright red. He was  
literally dripping wet, and half his face was covered in sticky, half-  
dissolved powder. "yOuSe WaNtS a HuGgIe?"  
_*WHY* did he pick on us?_ Lance thought.  
"What the *fuck*?" whimpered Fred. "What's with the freakshow?"  
"...sugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugarsugar..."  
"...javajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajavajava..."  
"EeEeEeEeEeEe! FrIeNdSiEs!" Kurt leaped off the ceiling and landed on  
Fred with a wet {Splut!} "LeT's PlAy A gAmE iN tHe PoOl!"  
"Yaaaaa!!!" said Pietro.  
"Whee!!!" said Todd.  
"Gettimoffgettimoffgettimoffgettimoffgettimoffgettimoff!" said Fred.  
"Fred! Don't drop the--"  
"Whee!!!" Todd took off.  
"Yaaaaa!!!" Pietro took off.  
"--dweebs." Lance sighed. "I need asprin."  
"*HEEE*heeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!!!" Kurt took off. "LeMmE sHoW yA tHe  
PoOl!"  
"You morons! We don't *have* a pool!" Lance screamed. "And quit  
bouncing off the walls you hyperactive lunatics!"  
"...oh, we have a pool, now," said Tabatha. Her voice was shaky and  
wierd. "It's *amazing* what you can do with a few garbage bags and no  
sanity whatsoever."  
"Hey, Lance! You should see what's in the back yard!"  
"Move over," said Lance. "I'll lock the door behind me."  
"Promise?" whimpered Tabby.  
  
Sunset.  
It was quiet. *Too* quiet. Freakshow and the dweebs must have fallen  
asleep by now. Or OD'd themselves into oblivion. Either way, Lance  
didn't care. He had a cramp and he *needed* to pee.  
That, and Tabby was starting to smell kinda rank.  
Moving cautiously, he unlocked the door. No freakshow. No dweebs.  
Cool. He didn't make a sound as he limped towards the bathroom, but he  
certainly heard one.  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
_I am not going to ask. I am not going to think about it. I am going  
to pee, and then I am going to lock myself in my room and turn up the  
sterio 'till my *ears* bleed and I am definately *NOT* going to ask what  
those three little freaks are up to._  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
_Yup. Just going to pee. Look at me, I'm ignoring the dweebs._  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
_Just *minding* my own business. Taking a leak. And *NOBODY* is going  
to ask *ANY* questions. I'm better off not knowing._  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," _I'm going to regret this in the morning..._  
"What the hell are they playing at?" Finished, he ventured a look out  
the back door.  
It really *was* amazing what you could do with a bunch of garbage bags  
and no sanity whatsoever. The 'pool' was two inches deep, at most, and  
covered the entirety of the back yard. A forlorn hose spat water into  
one of the larger puddles.  
Freakshow and the dweebazoids were repeatedly throwing themselves in  
the air from a supine position, and landing with a wet {Splut!} back  
into their puddles.  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
Evidently, it was hilariously funny and endlessly entertaining. Lance  
sighed. He *knew* he was going to regret looking, but he had to look.  
_We're all Mystique's Lost Boys,_ he sighed. _Rags, tags and even the  
fur coat, over there. No wonder she left us on our own._  
"Yo, Blob!"  
There was a distant, "Snrx? Whut?" from the lounge room. "Izzit time  
for dinner?"  
"No. Get'cher ass over here."  
{Thomp, thomp, thomp, thomp, thomp,} "Whut?"  
"What," he gestured at the dweebazoids, "the *hell*... is *that*?"  
"Oh. That."  
"Yeah. That."  
"They call it 'Jumpysplat'. Way I figure it, if it keeps 'em quiet,  
why do we gotta bother?"  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"Whee!" {Splut!}  
"We've got to *bother*, Fred, because *one* of them is an X-geek. The  
X-geeks *like* that one, Fred. They're incredibly overprotective of the  
little blue shag rug. *WAY* overprotective, Fred."  
"Ummmm..." Fred cringed. "I thought they were havin' fun..."  
"Do you have any idea what the X-geeks would *DO* if they found him  
playing 'Jumpysplat' in our backyard, Fred? They would *trash* what  
little of this place is actually still *standing*."  
"...I'm sorry..." Fred picked at his fingernails.  
"Okay. You grab Blue, I'll get Tabby out. Those two idiots probably  
won't even notice we're gone."  
"Okay. He's easier to catch like this, y'know? We should'a thought up  
'Jumpysplat' sooner."  
"Oh yeah," Lance muttered, "I can see *that* in the canned goods  
aisle." He opened up the closet under the stairs. "C'mon, Tabby. We're  
taking the fleapit home."  
"Keepimawayfromme!"  
"It's OK, Tabby. I got a plan."  
  
Tabby had regained a lot of her confidence when she realised the  
freakshow was going home. Heck, she was practically back to her usual  
self.  
Frightening thought.  
{sniffledy...}  
_Oh no..._ Lance risked a glance in the rear-view mirror to discover  
that yes, the Blob was trying not to cry. "Get over it Dukes."  
"But - I think he likes me..."  
"You're not bonding, and that's final."  
"But he gave me a special huggie."  
Lance sighed. If Mystique was here, she'd frighten the crap out of him  
in order to put him back in line. Lance had to use logic. "Fred, I think  
he'd want to give a concrete *lamppost* a 'special huggie', right about  
now."  
"...icky cold," said the freakshow. "Freddy-teddy snuggy huggie."  
"Ner," said Fred, sticking out his tongue.  
Lance sighed. _God help me._  
"Freddy-sweetheart," Tabby cooed, "We've *got* to take him back to  
where he belongs. I mean, we don't know how to feed him or look after  
him properly, and he'd miss all his geeky little pals."  
Fred wiped his nose on his arm. "But--"  
"I know," she soothed. "He's soft and warm and he likes you; but do  
you really think he'd be happy in that grunge-pit we call a home?"  
"He prettied it up for us?"  
"It wouldn't have stayed pretty," said Tabby. "We all know that, don't  
we, Lance?"  
"Yeah. That ravioli was already going rank, Fred."  
"*I* thought it was pretty," Fred mumbled. "And what if the X-geeks  
don't want him no more? What if he's got nowhere else to go?"  
"Freddy-sweetheart. A very wise person said something to me once. 'If  
you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If it  
doesn't, it never was.' We're just setting fuzzy free, you know?"  
Fred's bottom lip was trembling. "...okay," he squeaked.  
"Hallmark poster," Tabby whispered. "Works every time."  
Lance was counting in his head. _...five, four, three, two..._  
"WAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"  
_One._ Lance groaned. "I swear... he's like this *every* *single*  
*time* we gotta put some little critter back where we found it..."  
"WAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAHHH!!"  
"Aw, poor Freddy-teddy..."  
"Five more minutes. I just gotta survive for *five* more minutes..."  
  
It was after dark, and Logan was still prowling the Institute grounds  
in search of the elf's trail. There hadn't been a sign of him since  
Scott had threatened to tie him down.  
Chuck had made Hank clean out and dispose of anything that even  
*threatened* to contain red dye 366, in order to stop a repeat episode,  
but that hadn't bought the elf back.  
Jean wasn't very worried. She said that no matter what, Kurt always  
turned up for dinner. It was one of the fundamental laws of the Universe  
or something.  
Logan sniffed the air. Wet fur. Now *there* was a distinctive aroma,  
and Kurt's unique scent made it even more distinctive.  
He hardly needed his nose, though, to tell him that the enemy had him.  
"(gasp) AAAAAAHHHAAAAAAHHHAAAAAHHHAAAAAHHH!!"  
"Shut *up*, Fred! You want the clawmeister to shred us to pieces? Just  
give us the freakboy and let's get *outta* here."  
"But he doesn't wanna let go-oohoooo... (gasp) WAAAAAAAAHHH!!"  
"I'mgonnaregretthis," Tabatha sighed. "C'mere, Blue. Wanna give us a  
goodbye huggie?"  
Kurt's voice, "Wheee! Huggie!" {Splut!}  
"...ew. Peel him off and let's *do* this, okay?"  
"Youse don't wants a huggie?"  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!"  
"No," Lance cooed. "We're doing something *else* fun."  
"WHEEEE! *Fun*! I likes fun!"  
"Grab his feet, Tabs. I've got his arms."  
"Ready? *Swing*! One. Two. *Three*!  
"Wheeeeeee!"  
"WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!"  
Logan didn't see the flying elf until it was too late.  
"Wolvie!" {Splut!}  
"YES!" Crowed Lance. "Right in the kisser! BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"  
"Quick! Let's book!"  
"Huggie huggie," cooed Kurt.  
  
Jamie stopped running to tell Evan about something when he saw  
possibly the wierdest thing in his life to date.  
Logan stalked by with Kurt. Sort of. The demonic-looking X-man had  
wrapped himself around Logan's head and shoulders and wasn't showing any  
signs of wanting to let go.  
"Not a word, squirt. Not *one* frikkin' word."  
"...huggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggie..."  
Jamie walked on. "Uh... Evan?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Logan just went by with the elf on his head."  
Evan hadly bothered turning a hair. "It's a tough job, but someone's  
gotta do it."  
  
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA..." Hank  
pounded on the floor, helpless in the paroxysms of laughter.  
"When you're *sure* you're done, poindexter," said Logan. He was  
muffled by about one hundred and seventy pounds of exhuberant elf.  
Hank giggled to a stop. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped. "It's just  
that you look so damn *funny*. BWA-HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA...  
(gasp) AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."  
"...huggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggie..."  
"Elf? Go give *poindexter* a huggie."  
"HUGGIE!" {Splut!}  
There was a moment of silence.  
"Okay," said Hank as he convinced Kurt to 'huggie' his forearm. "*Now*  
it isn't funny."  
"Got that right," said Logan. "Let's secure him before he wants to  
'huggie' anyone else."  
"...huggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggiehuggie..."  
  
There was light in his eyes, his head hurt, his body ached, but at  
least it was cool. Kurt winced at the light and moaned. There was only  
one place unsympathetic enough to shine a light into a sick person's  
eyes. The hospital wing.  
"*GOOOD* morning," sang some cheery bastard.  
"...uhunh... loud..." Kurt groaned.  
"Not a mornin' person fo' a change, I see," it was Rogue. Did she  
actually get off on people's misery or what? "I can tell ya, Kitty an' I  
are glad of the rest."  
"...ooowwwwwwwwwhhhh..." he moaned. "Le' me die in peace, ja?  
Ooowwwtch..."  
Rogue snorted. "Y'all ain't gonna *die*," she said. "You'll just wish  
ya *had*."  
"...believe me, I already do," Kurt sighed, and made to cover his  
eyes. He couldn't move. "Gott, nein. I'm paralysed."  
"Nah. You're strapped down. After yesterday, we thought it was best."  
"*Yesterday*? I thought I was in here for heat stroke. What happened?"  
"You don't *remember*?" Rogue shrieked.  
"*Owwwwww*... loud..." Kurt spent a little while whimpering. "Last  
thing I remember, I got a nice, ice-cold drink from Herr McCoy... Then  
it starts getting fuzzy."  
{BAM!} The door slammed open. "RISE AND SHINE LITTLE CAMPER!"  
"...kill me," Kurt whimpered. "The pain..."  
"Y'ask me, you're gettin' *everythin'* ya deserve, ya fuzzy menace."  
"I don't even know what I did. I hurt. Can't you go a little easy on  
me?"  
"Tell that to the bruises on my butt, goose-meister."  
He opened his eyes. "I *goosed* my *sister*? *OWWW*!" He squeezed his  
eyes shut. "...ohhhh, the agony. Turn the lights off, at least? Owwww...  
Pity a poor, dying elf?"  
"You *aren't* going to die," sighed Scott. "So you're completely over  
jumping on people and yelling 'huggie', right?"  
"*Vas*? Please tell me I didn't?"  
Both Scott and Rogue glared at him. He could feel their gazes burning  
into him.  
Kurt moaned. "Trust me. I'm already paying for my sins. You don't  
*have* to make it worse. Ach! What did I *do*?"  
"The phrase, 'Sharky, Sharky' ring a bell?" asked Scott.  
"...ooooohhhhh..."  
"And we *think* y'all spent the afternoon buggin' the Brotherhood. At  
least, Lance is refusing to come *near* us and Tabby's hiding in corners  
and *Fred* - You don't wanna *know* what I saw *Fred* doing."  
"Todd and Pietro weren't in the picture," said Scott. "But from what  
we can gather, there was this little hyperactivity clambake at the  
Brotherhood boarding house."  
"...maybe it's better that I *don't* remember," sighed Kurt. "Is  
anyone mad at me?"  
"Prof. talked 'em all down. Said you had 'diminished responsibility'  
and it was all Hank's fault in the first place."  
"And we threw out every foodstuff that was even *remotely* coloured  
red. So it better not happen again."  
"The way I hurt, it shouldn't have happened *once*," Kurt winced. "The  
light? Please?"  
"*Good* elf," cooed Scott. "Here's a painkiller."  
A pill was pressed against his mouth. Kurt practically took Scott's  
fingers off, he was so eager to have it.  
"It's chewable," said Rogue.  
"Sehr gut," Kurt mumbled. "You watch. I'll be a *good* fuzzball.  
Promise." 


	8. Part the Eighth: Oh Baby

Part the Eighth: Oh Baby  
  
[Author's Note: This is the chapter where a lot of people stop reading -  
judging by the reviews. This chapter is a darkfic. Deal. Not all PWPs  
*have* to be funny, folks. At least it has a happyish ending]  
  
It was a dark and stormy early afternoon. Night wouldn't be falling  
for some hours yet, and the weather beaureaux promised clear skies for  
that evening. Kurt Wagner put the finishing touch on his detention essay  
(Why, exactly, noodles were not funny), handed it in, and prepared for  
the long walk home.  
He hated rainy weather. The feel of cold rain against his fur wasn't  
one of his favourite sensations. As for the way it made him *smell*...  
the less said about that, the better. Kurt skirted along under the eaves  
for as long as possible, keeping his holowatch safe in the confines of  
his pocket.  
The last thing he needed after the worst day this month was yet  
another fritzing holowatch.  
He almost didn't recognise the sound of a crying baby.  
Who would be out with an infant in *this* weather? Kurt ran to see,  
and found out that the baby was all on its own.  
It was in a cardboard box, and wrapped up to keep it safe from the  
weather.  
It was also undeniably fuzzy.  
Kurt blinked. _Relax. It isn't blue. You don't have a brand new  
relative._ He knelt to pick the baby up. His experiences with three baby  
sisters helping him more than a little.  
No more than a couple of months old. Deliberately wrapped up to keep  
it safe. Whoever belonged to her *had* intended to come back. A quick  
unwrap-and-peek revealed that it was a girl, and she had a tail. She  
also had all five fingers and apparently normal feet. She did *not* like  
the cold. Kurt didn't blame her, and swaddled her anew.  
She was too hungry to sleep, and too tired to cry properly.  
Just like he was when *his* parents had found him.  
He couldn't leave her here.  
Kurt ripped a page out of a notebook and wrote a note for her mother,  
in case she was returning for her daughter. He left it under a stone he  
placed in the box, and held the crying little girl against his chest.  
Kurt wrapped his overshirt around the tiny little bundle, and stopped  
caring about how his holowatch fared against the rain.  
"Hold on, kleine schwester," he whispered. "I'll get us some help." He  
wrestled his backpack on and, hunching against the precipitation, headed  
for the nearest public phone.  
He had no idea if teleporting would harm her, and it was too far to  
walk with a hungry child. Therefore, he had to phone for a lift.  
  
The phone rang. It was a stranger, and an angry one at that. Charles  
answered the phone with, "Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. May I  
help you?"  
There was the distinct hiss of a cellular phone. "Which one of you  
sick *bastards* has my daughter? What have you *done* with her?"  
"I'm - sorry?"  
"Somebody took my baby girl," the female on the other end of the line  
was hardly more than a girl, herself. She was barely stopping herself  
from crying. "They left this note. It's got 'die, kleine mutter' on it."  
"Uh, that's German, not a threat," said Xavier. "It means, 'the little  
mother'." Charles sighed. He should have known Kurt would be in the  
middle of some mess. He was late home. "I don't know anything about this  
at all."  
Sobbing. "Oh God, I thought it was a ransom note or something... My  
poor little Natalie... Who took her? Do you know? Isn't there some  
German kid that stays up there?"  
"Yes. Kurt." Pipip. Someone was ringing on the other line. "He hasn't  
come back, yet, but I suspect your baby is in good hands. He *does* have  
younger sisters." Pipip. This time, with a clear thought. _Come on,  
Katzchen. Get off the phone. I'm in a big pickle, here._ "Er. Someone's  
trying to ring on the other line. It could be him. Do you mind holding?"  
"*Please*. Go for it. I need to get my Natalie back."  
Xavier switched lines. "Kurt... what have you *done*?"  
"She was all alone, Professor. She's *starving*. And cold. I couldn't  
just *leave* her. She needs to eat and - she's like me." A very clear  
mental picture of a tawny, fuzzy little girl.  
No *wonder* her mother was so worried. Xavier sighed. "I'll send Scott  
to pick you up, and give her mother directions to the Institute. This is  
going to be an *interesting* evening..."  
"Dankeshoen!" Kurt hung up.  
Xavier got back on to Natalie's mother. "That was Kurt. He has your  
daughter and she's perfectly safe. He'll be bringing her here to the  
institute."  
Panic. "*NO*! You can't! Just tell me where he is. I'll get Natalie  
from there. Please? It's - I'm just so worried about her."  
She was a bad liar. She was afraid of what They would do if anyone saw  
Natalie.  
"You'd be surprised how understanding we can be, Christine," Xavier  
soothed. "You don't have to worry about the safety of your baby, here.  
Please. Come to the Institute. I can explain everything better in  
person."  
"How did you know my name?" said Christine.  
"Come to the Institute, and I'll tell you."  
  
Poor little girl. She was trying to suckle on his *shirt*.  
"Not long, now, leibe," Kurt soothed. "Rescue's on it's way."  
"Who the hell are you talking to?" demanded Scott.  
Rescue had evidently snuck up behind him while he was absorbed with  
the baby. Obviously, he'd just been told to pick Kurt up, and hadn't  
been told why.  
Kurt grinned. Scott was probably going to go bezerk. "Oh, just a  
little bundle of big trouble," he said, and eased aside his overshirt so  
Scott could see.  
"HOLY *CRAP*!"  
"Wwwaaaaaaaahhhh..."  
"Shh-shh-shh-shh..." Kurt gently stroked her head. "There now. It was  
only a loud noise. Scott means well, he does. Hush now, Shhh..."  
"Kurt, where the hell did you pick that up?" Scott unfurled an  
umbrella and guided them both to the van.  
"She's a 'she', not a 'that'. Unless you think of me as a 'that', too?"  
Scott winced. "Sorry."  
Kurt strapped himself in, and waited until Scott was in the driver's  
seat before saying, "Drive carefully, man. We don't exactly have a baby  
bubble for her."  
Scott was busy pushing buttons, and surprised Kurt with an emerging  
child safe restraint. "Professor Xavier prides himself in having one of  
*everything*."  
"Sehr gut," Kurt sighed, unwrapping the baby enough so that she could  
be buckled in. "There we go, kleine schwester. I know it isn't comfy for  
your tail, but it's only a couple of minutes and then we can see your  
Mama again. Won't that be nice?"  
"Dude, she can't understand a word."  
Kurt snorted. "Shows what *you* know about babies. Talking to them  
teaches them *how* to understand, right, leibe?"  
The baby cooed, but only a little.  
"Ach, she's starving. Poor little sister."  
Scott snorted as he began driving. Then he made the mistake of  
sniffing. "What's that *smell*?"  
Kurt sighed. "Either my fur or her diaper. I can't exactly tell from  
here. Probably both."  
"...gyuh..." said Scott, opening his window a crack.  
  
Christine ran all the way from her car to the people waiting for her  
in the lobby. There was no sign of Natalie. The man from the phone call  
said she'd be here.  
"Ah, Christine," said a man in a wheelchair. He was the one who  
answered the phone. "Kurt came in with Natalie a few minutes ago."  
"Where is she, is she alright? What are you going to do to her? Where  
*is* she?"  
"I'm Professor Xavier," said Xavier. "Your daughter is going to be  
fine. If you'll follow me?"  
This place was huge. Christine shivered, wondering what sort of things  
were happening to her little girl. There were other kids, some she knew  
by name, and others by reputation, and a very few adults. Waitaminute.  
Did she just pass a bunch of identical quintuplets?  
Xavier was explaining how sometimes, people were born a little  
different to everyone else. Duh. Christine *knew* that part. The part  
she *didn't* know was that that difference in an individual's genetic  
makeup could have some interesting results. It was when he dropped the  
phrase, 'mutant power' that the conversation got increasingly wierd.  
Some girl down the hall just turned into a *wolf*.  
"As I said, Christine, you'd be surprised how understanding we can  
be."  
There was a voice, just around the corner, and the accent was from  
Germany. "...and that's how you fold a diaper for someone with a tail.  
Is the bottle warm enough, yet? Poor Kind, she needs to eat."  
Christine heard Natalie cry. She sounded so weak. "*Natalie*!" She  
broke into a run. Her baby girl needed her.  
The German kid was sitting on a bed, Natalie tucked securely in the  
crook of an arm, and a bottle held in his other hand. "Gekommen, leibe,  
you need to eat. Take the bottle, now. Come on."  
Natalie was fighting him, crying all the time.  
"Please, kleine schwester. Please..."  
"Oh, Natalie," Christine bolted for her child. "Oh, baby. It's  
alright. Mommy's here." She began unfastening her top. All this time,  
she hadn't cared about her overfull, aching breasts or how wet she was  
or how badly she'd leaked. She'd just been worried about her daughter.  
The German kid blushed right up to his scalp and resolutely shut his  
eyes. "*Oh*," he said. "No wonder she didn't want a bottle. Should I  
fetch you a scarf? A warm blanket? You looked cold."  
"Just gimmie Natalie," Christine took her baby from his arms. Natalie  
latched on in a cold second and practically passed out on the first gulp  
of milk. It was such a relief to have her back.  
The German kid bolted from the bed as if it had bitten him. "Here.  
Sit. Make yourself comfortable. You're sure you don't want anything?"  
"I want *out* of this madhouse, you kidnapper."  
"I couldn't leave her there," he said. "I had no way of knowing if you  
were going to come back for her. Or... if you *wanted* to."  
There was something in his tone that made her sit, even though she was  
still on her guard. The way her diaper was fixed looked - professional.  
As if he'd had plenty of practice, and knew what to do about the tail.  
It had taken her a few days to figure things out properly, and there  
were improvements in this one that she'd only been thinking about.  
The German kid, still avoiding looking directly at Natalie or her food  
source, bought a warm blanket anyway. It was like he couldn't help  
himself. "I'm guessing you want to know how I knew to fix the diaper,"  
he said.  
"Sort of," said Christine. "What I *want* to know is why nobody's  
kicking up an almighty stink about a fuzzy baby with a tail."  
"Well, that's the thing," the German started playing with his hands.  
"You've probably already guessed that the Institute's a place for  
Mutants?"  
"Duh."  
"Well... some of us are - more mutant than others. I... wear a  
hologram so that people - don't react. You see. I'm also fuzzy. And I  
also have a tail. That's kind of where the similarities between me and  
your daughter end, though. She's - luckier than I am." He touched his  
watch, and the image of normalicy faded away.  
"Jesus H Christ," whispered Christine.  
"My name is Kurt Wagner," said the blue demon in soggy street clothes.  
"Despite how I look, I'm still human. Just like your little girl."  
Xavier had mentioned sisters. "Your -uh- family, are they - um..."  
"I'm adopted, so 'no'." He smiled. "Your little Natalie at least gets  
to know her birth-Mama loves her. Does she know her Papa?"  
Cold. "I was raped."  
"Ouch. Sorry." He sighed. "I'm going to put my foot in my mouth again,  
but - do you have any help at all at home?"  
She glared at him. The less said about her deadbeat dad and her  
absentee mom the better.  
"I'll take that as a 'no' and try to keep my big blue mouth shut," he  
said. "There will always be help here, whenever you want it."  
Xavier, who had caught up and just been in the background, nodded.  
"Can't exactly give her a big-ass sports watch, can you?"  
"No, it'd look all wrong, and I think she'd shake it off in a few  
minutes. Maybe we can come up with some 'soft circuits' and hide the  
whole deal in little jumpsuits for her? Though washing is going to be a  
problem... maybe we could ask Forge? He likes a challenge."  
"Kurt," Xavier chided. "Christine hasn't even decided if she *wants*  
our help, yet. Just because she has a mutant child--"  
"Second generation mutant child," Kurt corrected. "I put some of her  
shed fur through the gene analyser while Storm was off getting the  
formula. Both of Natalie's parents are mutants, too."  
Now *there* was a bombshell. If Christine hadn't been hanging on to  
Natalie, she might have fainted. But - nothing really wierd had  
happened.  
Unless she excluded how, halfway through the rape, the gang had just  
blankly walked away as if hypnotised. Or, when Natalie was born, how  
Daddy had not said a *thing*. Or how nobody at all ever looked at her  
when she was scurrying to get Natalie from one place to another.  
It wasn't always that way. Sometimes it backfired, and things got  
worse, but the really *important* things, life-and-death stuff, that  
always came out right. And it always kind of wiped her out.  
_Oh God. I spent half of detention today praying like mad for Natalie  
to be okay. Did I *make* this happen?_  
"We'll have to see," said Xavier. "Since you haven't consciously used  
your powers, Cerebro wasn't able to pick you up as more than a blip on  
the scanners. If I'd have known, I would have helped."  
"He reads thoughts, doesn't he?" Christine asked Kurt.  
"Amongst other things, ja. You get *nearly* used to it after a while."  
  
"Okay, focus," said the one called Logan. "You *really* need a six.  
It's vastly important to you that you get a six. Lives depend on it."  
Natalie was using the tip-end of Kurt's tail as a pacifier, and Kurt  
was cooing at her in German. Odd how hands like those could be perfectly  
safe. He called her 'little sister', because *all* small baby girls in  
his world *were* his little sisters. Just because this one wasn't even  
remotely related to him didn't count.  
Christine sighed, forcing her mind off of the background and onto the  
business at hand. She tried to think up the levels of terror associated  
with the tiny miracles that had happened the way she wanted them to. The  
need for Logan to roll a six slowly overwhelmed her mind.  
Logan went blank and dropped the dice.  
It stopped with six spots showing.  
Logan shook himself. "Okay... I guess you can also influence people as  
well as odds."  
Hank was poring over the readouts. "Hmmm, definite activity, but the  
activation of her mutant power is still forced, as opposed to  
instinctual."  
"Hey, some people develop at different rates," said Kurt. His tail was  
free. Natalie was asleep in his arms. "Some powers are harder to  
master."  
_Said the master of his own destiny,_ Christine thought at him. He'd  
been teleporting since he was thirteen, controlling it consciously since  
fourteen. And, she had to admit, getting increasingly frightened about  
it. She could see it, sometimes. When he was grooming his hair, pressing  
the bangs back against his head, he was secretly scoping out his temples  
for the first sign of horns.  
*He* had no illusions, well, except perhaps thinking he was God's gift  
to women, but that was just bravado and covering fire. He could really  
get to the core of people, explain them in ways they couldn't articulate  
themselves.  
He'd realised about her family in less than a handful of seconds. He  
*knew*, and she knew he knew because he'd come by and asked if she  
wanted to talk about it; but he didn't tell. Kurt could somehow work out  
what made a person tick, and wheedle his way into becoming one of the  
metaphorical gears.  
Why someone who was born looking like that would work so hard to be  
likeable was beyond her. If she'd looked like him, she'd be telling the  
entire world to fuck off and let her die.  
_Please don't let my Natalie grow up like that,_ she thought.  
"Christine? What do you think?"  
"Hmm? Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."  
Hank sighed. "We were discussing the option of augmentation; bringing  
out your power artificially. One side of the argument is that you'll be  
able to gain control faster, and be adept at using it more quickly. The  
other side is that that speed may come with any number of prices."  
"Could wish everybody dead in a bad mood," rumbled Logan. "Who knows.  
You could make it happen."  
"On the other hand, you could just let it slide," said Kurt, who was  
keeping his voice low, lest he wake the baby. "Gain whatever control  
you're meant to have naturally."  
  
"She's a little empath," Kurt said. Christine had asked why he had  
such a knack with her. "I don't know why she needs it. Maybe your power  
woke hers up; maybe she has something else in store for us, and needs to  
get used to her empathy, now. Either way, she knows what a person's  
feeling. All I do is focus on being calm."  
"How did you work this out?"  
"You won't believe me."  
"I'm sitting in a house full of mutants, talking to a guy who looks  
like a demon. I'm apt to believe anything at this point."  
"I think," said Kurt. "I think she told me."  
Sadness filled her. "She never told *me* anything."  
"It's not a verbal thing. She doesn't know words, yet. What she knows  
is feelings," Kurt gently turned her on her side and brushed her back.  
Natalie cooed and tried to laugh. "While she feels mine, she can also  
project hers. It's very limited. She can't reach anyone who isn't  
touching her. Here." He put Natalie in her arms and pressed the antique  
brush into her free hand. "Run this down her back and tell me what she  
says to you."  
Christine tried. There were waves of satisfied comfort, washing gently  
over her with each brush-stroke. "It's like a little massage, isn't it?"  
she asked her daughter.  
Natalie grinned at her and burped.  
  
Kitty grinned. At last. She was beginning to think no-one would let  
her near the baby. Natalie *was* very cute and was actually awake  
without wanting to make a fuss.  
"Hey there, sweetie," Kitty whispered. "Want to play with Aunty  
Kitty?"  
Natalie grinned and gurgled.  
"Yeah!" Kitty cooed. "You come with me. We'll have us some fun." She  
picked Natalie up in a hug. "C'mon. I'll show you around."  
  
Natalie was having fun, of a sort. There were all sorts of new things  
to see, and funny funny people and, most importantly, long hair to grab  
handfuls of and tug.  
"Ow... I swear you're like, doing that on purpose."  
Natalie gurgled at her. Didn't she understand it was fun?  
"Ooooohhhh... *Baby*..." A different person cooed. "Hello sweetie-pie.  
Hello, cutie. Can I hold her?"  
Oh! New person! Natalie wriggled and grinned.  
"Sure. My arms were like, getting *so* tired." Both girls worked on  
transferring Natalie across. "Ow. Leggo my hair, stinkypants."  
"Heeeee!" said Natalie. This one had nice long hair, too. It felt -  
different. Natalie grabbed a generous handful.  
"*Ow*. Knows how to grab, doesn't she?"  
"Come on, munchkin. Let go of Aunty Jubes' hair. She'd really *like*  
to straighten up."  
"Heeeee!"  
"Amara. You want to help?"  
"No. She'll throw up on me."  
Mmmm... some food would be nice around now.  
"Ew! She's sucking on my *hair*."  
"Maybe I should like, put her back... Christine is like, *mega*  
posessive."  
"Christine doesn't like, actually mind."  
MOMMY! Natalie turned to find her.  
"*OW*. Leggo my *hair*..."  
"AuhhhuaaaAAAAA*AAAAA*!" Natalie squealed. Come here, Mommy! I'm  
waiting and hungry...  
"Loud, much?"  
"C'mere, sweetie," Mommy said, getting the hair out of Natalie's fist.  
"Time you had some lunch."  
YES!  
"You're not bent out of shape about us like, borrowing her?"  
"A little, but Kurt says that meeting people is educational;  
therefore, I am trying not to stress."  
  
Kitty watched the mother and daughter go. "Kurt says that meeting  
people is educational," she mocked. "Since when did *he* become an  
authority on like, *anything*?"  
"He *does* have three sisters who are all younger than him," said  
Rogue.  
"Who asked you? All she can talk about is Natalie and Kurt. Kurt and  
Natalie. Preferably in like, the same breath. Why don't they just get a  
room?"  
"Ooooohh... jealous."  
"Shut up, Jubes. I am *not* jealous of *her*."  
"Oh, yes you *are*."  
"Am *not*."  
"Are too."  
"Not."  
"Too."  
"Not."  
"Too."  
"Not."  
"Too."  
"Not."  
"You are and I can prove it." Jubes grinned. "Ever since she came  
around, a certain lovesick fuzzboy has been out of the picture."  
"Well, FYI? I happen to be *glad*," said Kitty. "He isn't coming  
between me and Lance."  
"The Lance who's co-incidentally out of town right now?"  
"Shut up."  
"The Lance who hasn't called, even though he said he would?"  
"Shut *up*."  
"The Lance who went *out* of town with a certain blonde bombshell  
named Tabitha?"  
"That's it! You're totally gonna die!"  
  
Kurt strode away from Cerebro with the results. Then he strode right  
back again. He had to tell. He couldn't tell. People had a right to  
know. Hearts were going to be broken about this.  
He could tear the piece of paper up, consign it to the flames of the  
fireplace of his choice, and everyone would carry on as normal. Except  
for him, because he'd seen it. Would the knowledge gnaw away at him  
until he snapped?  
Could he ever look at people the same way?  
What to do. What to do.  
He had to do *something*. Kurt could feel it in his bones. But what if  
that something ruined everything.  
Kurt had actually thought Lance had a redeeming feature or two before  
he saw this. He was even going to try and patch up some kind of  
relationship, instead of entering into a rivalry. His stupid fault for  
wanting to make friends rather than keep enemies.  
Even if he *didn't* know the truth, the facts would still be there.  
Someone would find them out eventually.  
Someone would have found out that Lance was definitely one of the  
rapists, because Natalie was undoubtedly his daughter.  
Which meant that every time Kitty decided to go out with him, she was  
putting herself at risk.  
Lance wasn't exactly the fatherly type. Or, more correctly, the  
*responsible* type. Kurt could only imagine what would happen if he  
found out about his baby girl. Turning into a Golden Parent was probably  
the least likely event.  
Ignorance, at least in Kitty's case, was not bliss. It was danger.  
Christine either knew, or didn't want to know. His repeated attempts  
to get her to talk her trouble out were shot down by her patented glare-  
of-doom. Knowing wouldn't change her mind about anything or anyone. It  
may even wake up her power in exactly the wrong way.  
Why did *he* have to be the one who was sitting on a powderkeg?  
"Kurt? What are you doing in here?"  
Kurt anguished even more. He should be able to unburden himself to  
Professor Xavier, but Xavier was prone to keep dangerous secrets like  
this under wraps. "I was just - checking on something." He was also good  
at winkling secrets out of people - whether they liked it or not. Kurt  
sighed. Truth or Dare. He handed over the results. "I found out who  
Natalie's father is."  
Xavier looked at the paper. "Oh. Yes. I can see why you're so  
concerned about this."  
"What's the right thing to do?" Kurt pleaded. "We have to do  
*something*... but what's *right*?"  
"Kitty could be hurt if we kept this a secret."  
"She's going to be hurt, no matter what," Kurt sighed. "She really  
does like him." _She lights up for him in ways I can't even get near.  
Even when I try my best... maybe I should just settle for whatever I can  
get._ "And I don't want to hurt her."  
"Perhaps there's another way..."  
  
Kurt could only pick up a fragment of the conversation as Lance's SUV  
pulled up.  
"Relax, I'll make it quick. Prissy little preppy wasn't going to put  
out anytime soon, anyway. It's completely her fault. I figure, if she  
doesn't change her mind, we're set."  
_Lance, you really *aren't* a charmer. And I was starting to like you  
after you made an effort to be near her._  
"Love a win-win situation," Lance muttered as he skipped up the steps.  
"What are *you* doing out here, Freakshow?"  
Kurt let the obnoxious nickname bounce off for a change. "Nothing  
much. Thought you might like to know your *daughter* is living here,  
now."  
He stopped so hard he almost screeched to a halt. "What the hell are  
you talking about?"  
"I think you know, Lance. I think you remember a certain night -  
nearly a year ago? Even if you can't explain what happened, I bet you  
remember it. I bet you remember Christine."  
"Who?"  
"Oh. Of course. Rapists don't bother taking down names. They just  
take. How silly of me to forget."  
"There's no way anyone can prove anything, Freakshow. So just shut up  
before I shake you down."  
"You'll pass a paternity test, Lance. You already *have*. Now; either  
you tell Katzchen the truth - or I will."  
"Empty threat, fleabag. You wouldn't do nothing."  
Kitty phased through the door. "Honestly. Are you guys like, squaring  
off *again*? Get a clue, Kurt. I like, totally *don't* want to go out  
with you."  
"For once, leibe, this isn't about mein feelings for you. Tell her,  
Lance. Maybe it'll help you out, in the long run."  
"Shut up flea-brain. I don't have to say nothin'."  
{BeepBEEEEEEEP!} "Hurry *up*, Mudslide!"  
"Isn't that like, Tabitha?"  
"Truth or dare, Lance," said Kurt. "I have all the proof anyone needs  
right here." He patted his pocket.  
"Kitty... I think we should see other people. You know, it could  
strengthen our relationship and junk," Lance began. "Help us grow up.  
Stuff like that."  
"If you're gonna like, dump me, then at least like, tell the *truth*."  
Lance sighed. "It's just that I'm more grown up than you. I have -  
needs."  
"And a daughter."  
"SHUT UP, FLEABAG!"  
"La-a-a-ance!"  
"In a frikkin' *minute*! Keep yer shirt on for a change!" He turned  
his smile on again. "You see, Kitty--"  
"Oh, I see alright. I see you're still a *jerk*! I should have like,  
got a clue when you tried to *kill* me!"  
"That was an accident!"  
Kurt snorted. "Was Natalie an 'accident' too?"  
"You and Christine?" said Kitty. "Were you an item?"  
"Worse, Katzchen," said Kurt. "And this is Lance's last chance to tell  
you how worse."  
"Stuck up bitch deserved everything she got," Lance said. "Thought she  
was too good for anyone, the frigid whore. So what if we warmed her up a  
bit? She was *begging* for it."  
"Begging for it to *stop*, maybe," said Kurt. "Begging for it to be  
over so you would go away."  
"That does it, Freak. You're going down." He concentrated. The Earth  
began to move.  
Kurt only knew of one good way to interrupt someone's concentration.  
He leaped onto Lance and teleported. Over the years, he'd perfected a  
few stunts with his power that he rarely used when carrying passengers.  
The maneuvre he called 'touch and go', for example, made any passenger  
as sick as a dog simply because he could not take the brunt of the force  
of the journey. He was only in the physical world for a second, at most,  
before he teleported elsewhere.  
{Bamf! Bamf! Bamf! Bamf!} He dropped Lance into the SUV for good  
measure, and teleported back to his place by the door. Four touch-and-  
goes were his limit, no matter what distance he travelled. Dizzyness and  
nausea swept over him as he tried to catch his breath.  
At least no-one was in immediate danger.  
Lance was noisily sick in the driveway.  
Kurt felt like joining him, but only for a moment. Terribly bad form,  
being ill in front of your Lady. Collapsing was mildly okay, but not a  
preferred option if the foe was still in the vicinity. He should make  
himself get up. He should check that Kitty was okay. He should see if  
anyone else was hurt.  
_Oh dear. The baby... Professor?_  
_We're all fine. Just a little frightened. Nothing more._  
Tabby fired up the SUV, with Lance still heaving over a door. She was  
*not* in a good mood. Her hand glowed.  
"Katzchen? Schnell. She's going to throw one."  
He felt Kitty's hands on him even as he watched the biggest energy-  
ball Boom Boom had ever made arc towards them.  
He felt the blast go right through him, and shuddered at the feel of  
the glass falling through his body. _There goes another front door..._  
The SUV roared away into the distance.  
"I'm still not going out with you," Kitty said.  
"Fein, leibe," Kurt managed. "You need time to get over him. I don't  
think I'd have felt right in a rebound relationship anyway."  
A moment of silence as the very last piece of rubble bounced to a  
halt.  
"I didn't know you could like, use your power as a weapon."  
"It hadn't quite occurred to me, either."  
"Did it hurt?"  
"I'll be fine." He made to get up, only to discover that his legs  
didn't want to work. "In an hour or two."  
  
"Ewf! Ewf!"  
"Katzchen! Come here! Natalie's trying to talk!"  
"Ewf!"  
Kurt was grinning fit to burst. "She's saying 'elf'. I'm her first  
word! Dieses ist fantastisch... Say it again, kleine schwester..."  
Natalie grinned and dribbled as she wriggled along the floor. She was  
making her way in Kurt's general direction and saying, "Ewf!"  
"See, leibe? I'm her first word. I'm never going to forget today!"  
Natalie wriggled past him and glomped on to Rahne's lupine tail. "Ewf!  
Ewf! Ewf! Ewf!"  
Kurt sighed, deflating. "Not that I won't try to."  
Kitty burst out laughing and gave Kurt a sympathetic hug. "Thank you  
for playing," she said. "Maybe next time."  
"Oh, a hug from meine leibe. I'm in heaven..."  
Kitty snorted. "Like, get *over* yourself?"  
Christine had to smile. So it was a twisted family, with a dozen Aunts  
and Uncles and no Daddy in sight, but it was a good one. Daddies, as  
well she knew, weren't everything anyway. Natalie would easily learn  
about the right kind of love here.  
And, eventually, so could she. 


	9. Part the Ninth: Goblin Lead Them

Part the Ninth: Goblin Lead Them  
  
[Author's Note: Unusual title, I know, but our dear elf *has* been  
called a goblin on a number of occasions in ComicContinuity :) It's from  
a line in Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ -- "Up and down, up  
and down! I shall lead them up and down. I am feared in field and town.  
Goblin, lead them up and down." Kinda appropriate for what I got  
planned. MWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA... :) This one has a few references to  
_Opa's Brushes_ so I think it's safe to assume we have a sequel.]  
  
It was early. *Too* early for anything resembling civilised  
conversation, so the new mutants simply glared at Amara, who pointedly  
refused to curl up and die just because they thought she should.  
"We all know why we're here," said Wolverine. "So I won't bother  
repeating myself. Instead, I'm gonna ask one of you. Squirt?"  
Jamie yawned. "We're here 'cause Amara's a dirty thief."  
"Am not! I gave them *back*!"  
"After a wee bit of 'friendly persuasion', aye," muttered Rahne.  
"Don't tell me ye wouldn'a hung onto 'em if ye thought ye could.  
Daftie."  
Logan grinned. It was the kind of smile he got when *he* was going to  
have fun and no-one else was. "That's right. So I cooked up a little  
survival exercise for you."  
There was a mutual groan, and those who thought themselves too close  
to Amara sidestepped further away.  
"We're doing a little 'hunting'. You're gonna learn tracking, stalking  
and hopefully some common sense. All before breakfast."  
"Are we going to be killing some poor, defenceless animal?" asked  
Jubilee.  
"Nope. We've got a mock quarry. This time. ELF!"  
{Bamf!} "En guarde!" Kurt lunged at Logan, marking his uniform with  
the large piece of red chalk in his hand. "Ha. You're dead. I win.  
When's breakfast?"  
Logan sighed. "For the last time, *I'm* not the target. *They* are. If  
they catch and hold you, *you're* dead. However, if you tag them,  
*they're* dead. This is a battle of wits, people. Use any offensive  
powers and you've earned everybody an hour in the Danger Room. With me."  
"What? Why's everyone looking at me?" said Ray.  
"Just *try* and remember your anger management, today?" said Roberto.  
"As long as you keep trying to physically hurt Nightcrawler, you're  
never going to win. He's quicker than you."  
"And speakin' of quick," said Logan. "You've got five minutes, Elf. No  
'portin', no leaving the grounds, and that includes climbing on the  
fence. No cliff-crawlin' either. Indoors is out of bounds. Get  
creative."  
"Jawohl, mein Herr!" Kurt took off at a gallop.  
"Lesson one. Tracking. Elf's left us a nice set of footprints in the  
drive. I want you to familiarise yourself with how they look, where he  
puts his weight and why. We've only got three minutes to learn about our  
prey before we go after him."  
"But - you said he had five," said Amara. "Isn't that cheating?"  
"You expect your enemy to play fair?" Logan smirked. "I wouldn't  
worry. The Elf knows the score. He's good at avoiding hunters."  
There was another mutual glare at Amara. This time, she had the sense  
to look ashamed.  
"Pay attention," said Logan. "All of you. There's no confusin' Kurt's  
tracks with anythin' else, so that makes it easier for us to follow him.  
At least here. If I'm any judge, he'll figure out a way to mess up the  
scent trail, too. Rin - you know the elf's scent?"  
"Aye," said Rahne. "Smells powerful strange."  
"It's the fur. Throws off yer ability to classify 'im. We also have a  
slight advantage of knowing his habits. Always work with what you know.  
Now. What do we know?"  
"He's no stupid," said Rahne, "He's full of tricks."  
"He's as neat as a pin," said Roberto. "He can't stand dirt."  
"He sheds," said Amara.  
"Um," Jamie held up his hand. "He's real quiet? *I* never hear him  
when he walks. He could be right behind you and you'd never notice?"  
"He can climb like nothin' else on Earth," said Sam.  
"Wasn't he in a circus?" ventured Ray. "On the trapeese or something?"  
"Yeah. 'Die Fliedertuefel'," Bobby grinned. "He's got an old poster in  
his scrapbook."  
"Egomaniac," said Jubilee.  
"Time's up. Let's get huntin'." Logan singled out Amara. "And *you're*  
ridin' point."  
"I'm doing what?"  
  
"Hank? What's with the stopwatch?" asked Ororo.  
"Logan is out training the new recruits," said Hank, as if that  
explained everything. "It's only a matter of time until we're going to  
need to fix the gardens."  
There was a distant {fwoomph!} as a tree caught fire.  
Hanks topped the watch. "Five minutes. Impressive. They usually don't  
last that long."  
Kurt gallopped up, laughing maniacally. "There goes one of my decoys,"  
he gestured with a grin. "It's amazing what you can do with twigs and  
vines."  
Someone screamed, "Get me *down* from here!"  
"And green saplings," added Kurt.  
Ororo sighed. "One of these days, we're going to have to have a little  
talk about everything your Uncle Wolfgang taught you."  
"Not this morning, Frau'. I have to lead a wild chase."  
  
"Shut up! This is *not* funny!" Amara winced as her head hit the  
ground again. "*Owwww*..."  
Rahne was helpless with laughter. So was Jamie, Sam, and Roberto.  
"Bobby, whip up some sleet and put the tree out. Ray, get 'er down  
before she earns you another demerit."  
"Yessir," said Bobby.  
"Right," said Ray. He focussed a little 'zap' of his mutant energy at  
the vine.  
Amara fell like a sack of potatoes and complained bitterly about it.  
"Break my *leg* next time... Am I dead, now, Mr Logan?"  
"Nope. Elf didn't tag ya. Get up. Rob, you're on point. Keep yer eyes  
open."  
Roberto picked up a stick to prod any suspicious leaf drifts with.  
There was muffled giggling from somewhere in the trees.  
"Sir?" said Sam. "We're bein' watched."  
"Of course. Elf's huntin' us like we're huntin' him," Logan was  
remarkably cool about that. "Makes sense for him to start workin' our  
numbers down."  
"Whoah," said Roberto. "Look at *this*."  
Logan did. "Ha. Old indian trick." He pointed out the mess of prints  
to the others. "Run around every which way so yer enemy won't know where  
you went. Ray. You work it out."  
Ray mumbled something under his breath.  
"Keep talkin' like that an' you'll earn a demerit, bub," said Logan.  
Ray sighed. He stared at the prints. "The freshest ones go *that*  
way," he pointed, "but the weight's all wrong. When he walks,  
Nightcrawler's toes kick dirt back on his prints. He was walking  
backards. Which means he was going *this* way," he followed the trail.  
"But the prints stop... Up. He went *up*."  
"Good," said Logan. "Now turn around."  
He did, and the rest of the group burst out laughing.  
Ray craned his neck to see. The back of his uniform was covered in  
chalk marks. Kurt had had the time and opportunity to draw a picture  
across Ray's back.  
"Impressionistic," said Amara, "and spartain, but he really *captured*  
the moment."  
"*I* didn't know he could *draw*," said Roberto.  
Ray took off his uniform top to have a look. There, on the back, were  
two stick figures. The one with pointy hair had a bunch of question  
marks around his head while the one with the tail held an artist's  
pallette and was saying, "I love a canvas that stays still!"  
"You're *dead*," said Logan. "Go wait for the others at the fountain."  
Ray grinned. "Hey. I made it through an entire session without getting  
a demerit," he wandered off. "YES! I am Spartacus!"  
  
"I thought dying was a *bad* thing," Rogue said as she popped open  
another deck chair.  
"Yeah, but I 'died' without earning any demerits," Ray was still  
grinning. "*And* I get to *eat*."  
Kitty came outside, bearing another tray of foodstuffs. "Like, Ororo  
got totally sick of Kurt begging at the kitchen window," she said,  
laying the tray on the collapsable table. "Then she got like, *really*  
sick of us flirting while he did it, so she like, told us to set this up  
for you guys."  
"Great! Dying really works up an appetite."  
"You should try being hunted, sometime," said a voice under the  
tablecloth. "No *that's* excercise, ja?"  
"Sweetie!" Kitty squealed, flipping up a corner of the tablecloth.  
"When did *you* get here?"  
"Just after you went back in from putting out the Gatorade," Kurt  
emerged from his hiding place and kissed her. Then he put a chalk-mark  
in the centre of her forehead.  
"Like, what is *that* for?"  
"Mercy killing. Just in case Herr Logan decides to draft you."  
"Awww... you're so *sweet*," Kitty hugged him and planted a chaste  
kiss on his nose. "Now go out there and give 'em like, heck."  
"Jawohl, meine Dame," Kurt purred.  
Rogue made retching noises into the finger food.  
  
Rahne was in her wolf form, sniffing Kurt's trail out across rocky  
ground. It lead right into a patch of something pungent. She yelped,  
pawing at her nose as she reverted to her human shape. Tears streamed  
from her eyes. "Ack! Yeauch! *EW*! Tha's *disgustin'*... My nose'll  
never be the *same*. Eeeeeewwwwwww..."  
"Be glad the elf didn't roll in it," said Logan.  
There was a mutual, "*EW*..." from the surviving mutants.  
"Rin, you're with the walking wounded," Logan gestured at Amara and  
Bobby, the latter of whom was still trying to remove the last vestiges  
of one of Kurt's 'tar babies'. Fortunately, he'd used mud instead of  
tar, but the result was similar.  
"I found something!" Roberto crowed. "He left some of that gunk on  
this tree. He's gone climbing again."  
"Waitasecond," said Sam. "Where's Jamie?"  
"Aw man..." Roberto sighed. "Please don't let this get us a demerit...  
Jamie! Where are you?"  
"Thanks for givin' away our position, bub," growled Logan. "Even if  
the Elf *didn't* already know - he knows now."  
Sam pushed aside some shrubbery to reveal a distant figure. It was  
sitting very still, and resembled a certain blue fuzzball. "He ain't  
gettin' *me* with a stupid tar baby," Sam murmured, and hucked a rock at  
it.  
Suddenly, there were three figures. Sam winced, and rushed to untie  
the original. It really *was* amazing, what you could do with nature's  
cast-offs.  
"Sorry, Jamie. I really thought you were a tar baby."  
Logan was frowning. "Why the hell didn't he 'kill' you, Squirt? He  
sure had the opportunity."  
One of Jamie's doubles took the gag from Jamie's mouth. "It's 'cause  
I'm live bait," he said.  
Sam looked at his leg. "Aw shoot." There was a thick chalk line down  
it. "I'm not only dead, but I'm crippled to boot." He sighed. "See you  
all on the 'other side', I guess."  
  
To add insult to injury, Kurt and Kitty were kissing when Sam got to  
the buffet breakfast, and they looked like they'd been doing it for a  
while.  
"How long--?"  
"Couple of minutes," said Jubilee. "They'd be cute if they weren't so  
damn disgusting."  
"Urgh. They're frenching again," murmured Ray.  
"Thank you *so* much for the news bulletin I did *not* need,"  
sarcasmed Rogue. "You two! Come up fo' air!"  
"Hmm?" Kitty looked dazed. "You want somethin', roomie?"  
"Yeah. I want you to quit messin' around and start workin' for a  
change."  
"Jealous, meine schwester?" Kurt waggled his eyebrows at her.  
"Shut up. You're supposed to be teachin' the rest of them a lesson."  
There was a distant, "Waugh!"  
"There goes one of mein tiger traps." Kurt smiled and waved bye-bye at  
Kitty. "Au revoir, leibchen."  
  
"When you're *quite* finished cussin', down there..." said Logan.  
"He put chalk on the rocks down here," said Roberto. "I'm covered in  
red!"  
Amara and Rahne had to hold each other up from the laughing they were  
doing.  
"Permission to recover the body, sir?" giggled Bobby.  
"Whatever. Take you're time. You're dead, too."  
"*What*?" Bobby craned his head. There was red chalk all over his  
back. "Great. *Just* great."  
"BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAA... He played tic-tac-toe!"  
"Shut up, Jamie."  
"You two!" Logan barked at the girls. "Sober up. We're droppin' like  
flies out here. Pay attention and try to stay alive."  
"Why didn't you yell at Jamie?"  
"*He* always has his back to something. Kid knows to stay on guard."  
"Um. I kinda do that anyway so's no-one bumps me from behind," said  
Jamie. "Sorry."  
"Why be sorry about bein' a difficult target, kid?"  
Jamie grinned. Compliments from Logan were rare and treasured.  
  
Rahne stomped towards the buffet, cursing in Gaelic all the way. She  
looked like she'd had an outbreak of some rather aggressive measles.  
Kitty started laughing.  
"I won't ask," said Rogue. "I *won't* ask."  
"I was shot," said Rahne. "He'd coloured up a bunch of acorns and  
fired at us. Amara got us another demerit by firin' up an' only savin'  
her daft muckle self."  
The rest of the new recruits moaned.  
  
"CHAAAAAARRRRRRGE!" {Whump!} "Ooohhh... That *hurt*." The latter was a  
chorus of Jamie-duplicates picking themselves up off the forest floor.  
"*What*," Amara demanded, "is your *problem*?"  
"Confusing the enemy?" One of the Jamies grinned. "The more there is  
of me, the less likely he is to get me. I can outnumber him."  
"This," Logan announced, "is going to be interestin' to watch."  
All the Jamies started shoving each other. It got exponential from  
there.  
"I am surrounded by idiots," announced Amara. "It's time that peasant  
heard the Voice of Authority."  
Logan was hiding his mouth.  
"*Peasant*! Surrender yourself and We may be merciful. As you can see,  
Our forces are growing by the second. Submit now, or face the wrath of  
Our command."  
The Jamies were laughing.  
"Nice speech, Princess. For a dead woman."  
Amara looked over her shoulder. It was another portrait in red chalk.  
"I'M GOING TO *SKIN* HIM! STUPID, MANGY, WORTHLESS, BAREFOOT, UNWASHED,  
BOOTLESS, GYPSY -- *PEASANT*!"  
"Get over it and get goin'." Logan jerked a thumb towards the  
Institute's mansion. He then faced the proliferation of Jamies. "Okay.  
That's *more* than enough of you. Unless you all like cold canned  
ravioli for breakfast."  
About two hundred Jamie Madroxes saluted. Then they scattered.  
  
"...hahahahahahahahahaaaahahahaahahahahahahahaaa..." Evan pounded the  
table. "That is *so* *LAME*!"  
"I *order* you to read it! *Aloud*!"  
Kitty was the one who sobered up enough to be intelligable. "Okay.  
Okay," she managed through giggling fits. "It's got you on a soapbox,  
saying like, 'blablablablablabla' andum - waaaahahahahahahaha..."  
"You've got zits and stink and flies," giggled Ray.  
"And a suspicious puddle at yer feet," added Rahne.  
"And a ball and chain on your ankle that says 'thief'," said Sam.  
"And Kurt's behind you like, drawing on you and saying 'I'll pretty  
her up a bit'," said Kitty.  
"And it's got, 'she needs the help' written underneath," squealed  
Roberto.  
Amara caught fire with a barely audible {whoomph}. "Rrrrr!"  
"Ah-ah-ah," cooed Jean. "Fighting while your dead earns you personal  
demerits."  
"I... *hate*... telepaths," Amara managed through gritted teeth.  
"Bobby? Could you -ah... fix that?"  
"Nuh-uh. I'm not going near her."  
Kurt gallopped by like a bat out of hades. There was a doppler-  
distorted, "No time, sorry, Katzchen!"  
Fifty-so Jamies charged after him, bellowing at the top of their  
lungs.  
"*KILL* THE PEASANT!"  
"*Amara*..."  
  
The chase had been fun for a change. Right up until now. Everywhere he  
went, there was a cluster of Jamies waiting for him. They were tripping  
over each other and multiplying like some maddened variant of the  
_Gremlins_ movies.  
They were *everywhere*.  
He was starting to panic. He knew it, but he couldn't help it. What  
*really* didn't help were the flashbacks to places like Winzeldorf,  
where they didn't like strangers, gypsies or demons. In that order. He  
had to remind himself that if he didn't smell burning pitch or naptha,  
he was safe.  
He had to remind himself that this was America, and he was among  
friends.  
He had to look out for that boulder.  
{CRACK!}  
"Oops," said a half-dozen Jamies.  
  
"Is he dead?"  
"Please don't be dead..."  
"Look, he'd breathing."  
"We gotta help him!"  
"We gotta get *Logan*."  
"Don't touch him! He could'a broken something."  
"But he's *bleeding*!"  
A good twenty of him said, "IthinkI'mgonnabesick..."  
It was a very bad day when you could argue with yourself. Jamie, or at  
least he *thought* he was the original Jamie, bit his lip. Kurt was one  
of his personal real live heroes, because of all the neat stuff he could  
do. Kurt *taught* him, instead of doing things for him, and never once  
believed that Jamie was incapable of trying.  
He taught Jamie stuff that started with warnings like, "You really  
shouldn't be learning how to do this, but--"  
And now Kurt'd run headfirst into a big rock and he didn't know what  
to *do*.  
Kurt would have done something if their situations were reversed.  
"Okay," he said. "This is what we're gonna do." He had no idea where  
the orders came from, but they sounded like the right things to do. He  
sent a bunch of his doubles running for help, and recruited some of his  
newer selves to help gently lift Nightcrawler and get him out of this  
lonely little corner of the estate.  
They had to be *very* careful. If he tripped and fell while he was  
holding someone, there was no *telling* what could happen. They had to  
march, and march slowly.  
  
"Seen where they went?" Logan asked the assembled X-men.  
"Which 'they' are you talkin' about?" asked Rogue. "I've seen Jamies  
headin' every which way but straight up fo' the last half hour."  
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't wanna *know* how many  
of 'em there are by now."  
"Conservative estimates are in the late hundreds," said Amara.  
"Did you hear me askin'?" Logan speared an apple and, just as he got  
close to taking a bite, froze. Then he grinned. "Whaddaya know. The  
little squirt got him."  
Then about eight Jamies yelled for help.  
  
"...kurt..." everything was so distant. He could hardly hear. People  
were saying his name, but they were far away. So very far away. He could  
only open his eyes a flicker, and saw blurry shapes dancing around him.  
"...kurt... oh sweetie... can you squeeze my hand?"  
How could Katzchen be so close and sound so far away? Kurt tried to  
move his hand. All he could do was get his thumb to twitch.  
Rough fingers probed his neck, feeling the bones. "...nothin'  
broken... red, you getting anything?"  
_Hey there. You all right?_  
_Nein, I'm half left._ He tried to smile. Face wouldn't work. _But  
seriously? I'm having a little trouble with feedback in here._  
"...concussion," said Jean, "he should recover in time."  
_Jean? You still listening?_  
_Something you want to pass on?_  
_Make sure Logan doesn't feed the Jamies cold ravioli? It's not his  
fault that there's a thousand of him._  
_You *know* that that's a lie. I can tell._  
_Ja, but -- he really hates cold ravioli._  
Jean's telepathic presence sighed. _How the hell can you give me  
bambi-eyes when you're unconscious?_  
_It's a knack._  
  
"Comfy?"  
Kurt grinned, looking a little strange because the bandage on his head  
forced one eye half-shut. "Hmmmmm... I think I can survive." He purred  
subliminally when Katzchen smoothed his fur down with her hand.  
Kitty giggled. "You tickle when you do that," she cooed.  
"Is it something I should apologise for?"  
"Never." Kitty produced the bowl she'd bought in for him. "Open up,  
now."  
Kurt obeyed, chewing on the offered mouthful. "Mmmm... Ravioli."  
"Logan said that since the Jamies ate half of the groceries for this  
week, you should like, get what he should've had in the first place. But  
I like, nuked it when he wasn't looking."  
"I knew I was in love with an angel."  
"Flatterer."  
"Don't tell me you don't love it, leibe."  
Their lips met, and they both murmured their appreciation of the kiss.  
Someone cleared their throat. They looked up, blushing slightly. It  
was Logan.  
"Keep it G-rated, you two," he growled. "Chuck may like kids, but he  
don't like *kids* having kids. And neither do I."  
Kurt's uncovered eyebrow raised. "What kind of superman do you think I  
*am*, mein Herr? I ran into a verdammt big *rock* this morning..."  
Logan glared at him. "Yeah, and you're milkin' it for all it's worth."  
Kitty was going quite pink. "Uh. Mr Logan... we like *know* we're not  
ready for all that junk. It's just like, kissing."  
"Good. Keep it that way." He stalked off with a wry, "Enjoy your cold  
dinner, elf."  
"I won't tell him if you won't," said Kurt.  
"Deal." 


	10. Part the Tenth: Smell You Later

Part the Tenth: Smell You Later  
  
Kurt leaped into the couch from behind with a relieved sigh. He'd  
obviously been working out in the gym, since he only wore shorts, a  
singlet and a towel draped around his neck.  
Amara, who he'd 'co-incidentally' dropped next to, pinched her nose  
shut. "Ugh," she said. "It's bad enough that I have to share this  
dwelling with an unwashed barefoot peasant, but do you have to share  
your *smell* with me?"  
"Awwww... Did I offend your delicate diddle nosie?"  
"Go *away*."  
Kurt cackled as he left the room. Round 3 428 of their little  
international fracas had emerged in a victory to him. Kurt grinned. He  
knew he never smelled exactly - offensive; it was just that after a good  
work-out he just got - strong.  
"Ew!" Kitty screwed up her face after she bumped into him. "Forget  
something today, elf? Like, *hygene*?" She wiped second-hand sweat off  
her front.  
Kurt's face fell as he watched her run away. _Call it a draw, then._  
He 'ported directly to the guy's bathroom and hit the shower with a  
sigh. Every other girl who counted - and Amara certainly didn't - found  
his scent kind of alluring. Heck, half the women in the troupe used to  
follow him around after the show.  
But Kitty - the one girl who meant *everything* to him - found him  
offensive, and that was enough to make him agonisingly self-conscious.  
He was already working out twice as much as he used to, because Kitty  
liked guys who were 'buff'. Not that it seemed to show up, much. Maybe  
it was the fur, softening what would have otherwise been a chiselled  
figure.  
Or maybe he was just a big, blue, fuzzy and freakish dope.  
Kurt washed that thought down the drain with the rest of his bad  
smell. There were always solutions to problems. There was an entire  
industry dedicated to it. So he could cover up one more little aspect of  
himself that offended her.  
  
_Man, this is harder than I thought..._ Kurt winced. So many choices.  
So many names. Such large prices for such little bottles.  
He forgot entirely about the aftershave. The fur on his face showed no  
sign of ever transforming into a beard. Therefore that left the perfumes  
for men.  
The Industry called them 'parfams' or somesuch, but they were still  
perfume. Logan called the lot of them 'stinkwater' when he thought Ororo  
wasn't listening.  
"Looking for a present for your Dad, handsome?" cooed a saleswoman.  
Kurt could feel a creeping blush coming on. Her shirt was so undone  
that he could practically see her underwear. He covered his eyes and  
managed a strangled, "NothanksI'mfine," and scurried off before she  
could spray him with something.  
Perfume saleswomen. They were worse than civet cats.  
Some of the displays were confusing. _What the heck does 'for the  
woman inside' mean? Mir rauch der kopf..._ One, eventually, hypnotised.  
There was a gigantic video wall playing nothing but adverts for  
various fragrances. Beside it were posters for _D'artagnion_. Kurt was  
fairly sure that no-one was making a movie by that name. He'd have found  
out the second the script had been finished.  
Then some very familliar music started blaring out of the speakers.  
Kurt looked at the screens. Zorro was fighting evil and getting the  
girl, swooping across impossible distances on a length of rope. He knew  
that movie. Heck, he *dreamed* that movie.  
"D'artagnion," a husky female voice whispered. "For the adventurous  
spirit."  
Kurt was hooked. He watched ad after ad, swashbuckler after  
swashbuckler. Swordfight after swordfight. All the time, that luscious  
female voice whispered seductive phrases.  
"For the hero within," she said. "For the brave heart," and, "Live the  
adventure."  
It wasn't a movie, it was a smell. For men.  
_Caution, Kurt,_ he warned himself. _Find out about it first. You  
don't want to wind up smelling gay._  
He sidled up to a salescounter and opened with, "Please don't spray me  
with anything, yet? I just want to know about this D'artagnion stuff."  
Hi-My-Name-Is-Trish grinned vacuously. "Would you like to try a  
sampler?" she parrotted, gesturing with a little spritzer.  
Civet cats, the lot of them. "*No*. I want to find out about it. Who  
buys it?" He ducked the jet of perfume just in time. "Look, is there a  
human being I could talk to? I want *information*."  
Hi-My-Name-Is-Trish handed him a brochure. It was a text version of  
the ads he'd just seen.  
Kurt sighed. "I want you to listen *very* carefully, and then *answer*  
my question, okay? Can you do that?"  
Hi-My-Name-Is-Trish blinked at him, her smile waning. "Er..."  
"Finally broke the pattern, ja? I think you were working in your  
sleep."  
"Would you like to try a--"  
"We already did that part," he said. "I just want to know what sort of  
guys wear D'artagnion. You see, there's this girl I like and -um-  
youknow."  
Hi-My-Name-Is-Trish laughed. At least she was alive behind her eyes,  
now. "Don't worry. D'artagnion isn't remotely floral. It works by  
accentuating your natural pheremones while masking any offensive scent  
with a spicy aroma." This time, she handed him a scented card.  
Kurt risked a sniff. Not too bad. He leaned conspiratorially on the  
counter. "I've - never had to use anything like this before... what's -  
done?"  
"My boyfriend usually gives his pits a brief dose - and between you  
and me, there isn't a gal alive that can resist this stuff."  
Kurt grinned. "How much?"  
She told him.  
"*Ooof*..." was Kitty worth *that* much? _Stupid question._ "I don't  
have that in cash. Do you take plastic?"  
"Sure we do. This *is* the twenty-first century, cutie."  
Kurt preened as he reached for his wallet. "Er. Which card do you  
take?" He fanned out the collection he'd gathered over the months.  
Kurt didn't like credit cards, as he'd been lectured repeatedly on how  
evil they were and how rapidly someone could fall into debt. However, he  
also wanted to protect his friends. Therefore, when any mail addressed  
to 'the occupant' came in with a notice of pre-approval for a card - he  
just stepped into harm's way. If he was careful, he reasoned, he could  
balance the things for the term of the contract and then quietly close  
the accounts.  
That still left him with well over fifty credit cards in his name.  
Hi-My-Name-Is-Trish took one seemingly at random and ran it through  
the swiper thingy in exchange for a very small box.  
_Man, a little of this stuff had better go a long way,_ he thought.  
What the hell. It was worth it. For Kitty.  
  
Kitty rubbed her eyes as she read her magazine. There was a quiz on  
how to tell who she was really in love with, and it went over about ten  
pages. She chewed her pencil. Did she like a guy who was sensitive to  
her needs, or a guy who encouraged her to meet *his* goals?  
{fwomp} Kurt landed on the couch. "Hey Kitty. What's happening?"  
_Well, at least he isn't like, sweaty any more._ "Go away, Kurt. I'm  
like, busy." She circled 'a'. Like, duh.  
"You're sure?"  
Did she like her man entertaining, organising, fraternising or  
fantasising (about other women)? "*Kurt*..." she tsked. "This like,  
survey goes on for like, a billion pages. Of *course* I'm like, sure."  
Kitty made to circle 'b', then changed her mind and picked 'a'.  
He sighed. "All right." His weight left the couch. "Need anything?"  
"*Duh*. Like peace and *quiet*?"  
  
So much for irresistability. It was going to take him at least four  
weeks to raise enough cash to pay off the card. Waste of money. Waste of  
time.  
"Hey-yyy," Jubilee cooed. "Someone smells mighty nice."  
Kurt smiled at her. "I wish Kitty thought so," he said. Well, maybe it  
wasn't a total loss. Maybe he could drum up some competition, make Kitty  
a little jealous, and get noticed *that* way.  
_Pity I don't play games like that,_ he sighed. _It's dishonest._  
  
And that was pretty much it for Kurt's little container of D'artagnion  
For Men. It lay abandoned in his dresser drawer, right next to Opa's  
brushes. Right up until the night of his acrobatics performance for  
Bayville High.  
Principal Kelly had caught him fooling around on the gymnastics  
equipment during free period and nearly scared the hell out of him by  
applauding.  
To think, he used to bask in the ovations of hundreds.  
Die Fleidertuefel, scared out of his wits by the sound of one man  
clapping.  
"Sorry," said Kelly. "I didn't mean to throw off your rythm, there."  
Kurt forced himself back into the swing of things. Just because he was  
being watched didn't mean he could screw up his routine. "I should  
appologise, mein herr," he said. "I shouldn't let myself be startled."  
"So - ah - why didn't you join our gymnastics team?"  
_A little something called 'fur', or a 'tail'. Or maybe my dummkopf  
fritzing holowatch._ He swallowed the real answer and came up with  
something more suitable. "I'm an acrobat, not a gymnast."  
"There's a difference?"  
"Acrobats are allowed to eat what they like. Gymnasts starve." He  
threw himself in the air from the uneven bars and, not even looking,  
caught the twin hoops that dangled several meters away. "*And*, no  
gymnast would be allowed to do *that*."  
There was an appreciative whistle. "Well. You've impressed *my* socks  
off."  
"Dankeshoen." Ah, praise. His meat and milk.  
"I have an idea," said Kelly as Kurt threw himself around. "How about  
a display of your skills - to generate money for the school, of course.  
You could do anything you like."  
"I'm going to need a full rig set up. And some stunt props."  
"Just give us the specs."  
"One night only, no stage names," _It'd be too hard to explain my  
stage name, anyway..._  
"Not a problem."  
"Front row centre seats for my friends?"  
"You got it."  
"Herr Principal, I think we have a deal."  
  
His old costume from the circus was a little tight on him, now, but it  
*did* serve to outline his muscles nicely. Kurt brushed up a little  
extra shine on his fur with a second sweep of the soft brush, then  
completely erased the effect by turning on his hologram.  
Good thing he'd talked the Professor into letting the hologram reflect  
his true physical self a bit more. All he really needed to hide was the  
fur, eyes, ears, and tail. Kurt flexed in front of the mirror.  
"Oh, ja. She won't be able to res--" a flash-forward to the end of his  
performance. Him, exhausted and sweaty, coming out of the hot spotlights  
to meet, 'Ew, get away from me. You like, *stink*.' No. Not good at all.  
She'd be able to resist *plenty*.  
Kurt's gaze fell on the little bottle of D'artagnion. _Time to earn  
your keep, mein fruend._ He gave his pits a liberal spritz, then added a  
little jet to the back of his neck, where sweat tended to collect.  
There. He may not actually *stink*, but at least Kitty wouldn't actively  
shun him. He hoped.  
  
Downstairs, waiting for Kurt to finish getting ready, Kitty swallowed  
yet another decongestant with a glass full of flat ginger ale. Then she  
popped a couple of drops of visine in her eyes.  
No sense spoiling Kurt's big night with her stupid it'll-never-go-away  
Summertime sniffle. So what if her sense of smell was like, totally  
*dead*? She never used it anyway.  
Kitty had had her cold ever since she'd filled in that stupid survey.  
After all those questions, she tallied up her score in various areas and  
got the resultant fortune cookie:  
"Your dream man is the shy, quiet type who wants to show off for you,  
but his efforts may frequently backfire. He is probably the boy next  
door - someone physically close to you and who wants to become  
emotionally closer. Watch for those watching eyes of his! Your dream man  
will quietly observe from afar. He'll make plenty of attempts to appease  
you, and often take thoughtless rebukes of yours to heart. Be careful  
with him, girls. This dream guy may be the catch of a lifetime, but he  
has a heart that's too easily broken."  
Like, what guy on *Earth* could possibly be like that?  
"I found your purse, Katzchen. It was under the couch."  
Kitty cleared her throat. "Thanks Kurt," she said. "Is it bad luck to  
wish you good luck?"  
"I don't need luck, leibe. I have skill."  
  
The audience was wowed. Kitty could hear just about every girl in the  
auditorium screaming his name. Her head, on the other hand, was so  
stuffed full of cotton that she could barely stay awake. _Should've  
taken the non-drowsy meds,_ she thought. _Stupid cold._  
On the floor, Kurt was balancing a chair on one leg, while he gripped  
its upper rail with both hands. Correction. One hand. Correction, he  
didn't grip it at all. He was now balanced on the upper corner of the  
trembling chair, by the tip of his finger. Thanks to his hologram, the  
audience saw two fingers, but they still shrieked with every little  
wobble.  
With a cry of, "Hop-la!" he tossed himself off the chair, which began  
to topple, and turned himself about. He landed on the chair with his  
feet, stopping its descent into a potentially bone-breaking crash, and  
balancing it on two legs. Then he made the chair walk all the way to the  
ladder that lead into the rigging high above.  
They lapped it up. He was practically glowing in their adulation, and  
proved it by climbing the ladder with just his arms.  
"What a show-off," said a voice behind her. Lance. He always seemed to  
turn up around her, lately. "I wonder what they'd think if his little  
holowatch went -vzt- right in front of everyone?"  
Kitty yawned. That was a brand new holowatch. The likelyhood of it  
even *thinking* of going {vzt} was extremely remote. _Urgh. Kurt's  
philosophy is catching. I'm starting to think those things are alive,  
too. I must be sick..._  
"Hey, pretty-Kitty. Want me to spice up the show for ya?"  
"Lance, don't even think about it," she croaked. Then she cleared her  
throat. "Kurt's been like, working on this for like, a whole month. If  
you like, *do* anything? I'm like, not going near you for like, three."  
"Three months?"  
Kitty nodded. God, her head hurt.  
Lance sat on his hands. "I'll be good."  
  
The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he stood stock still at the  
end of his routine. Damn, it felt good to be in the spotlight again, to  
feel the love pouring in from thousands of strangers.  
He bowed. Hundreds of girls screamed in delight. The ones that had a  
good look at his rump, of course. He obliged the other half of the  
audience by turning around and bowing again.  
He was loving it.  
Sweat was pouring off of him, slicking down his hair and fur. He  
wanted nothing more than a that-was-fantastic hug from Kitty and a hot  
shower. Not necessarily in that order.  
_Ach, just a few more minutes playing to the crowd..._ Kurt grinned,  
blowing kisses in random directions. _It can't hurt anyone._  
  
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"  
Scott had his fingers in his ears. He had no idea acrobatics was such  
a turn on. Otherwise, he'd have paid a little more attention to what  
Kurt had been doing in the gym, and tried to borrow a few moves.  
Even Amara was screaming her lungs out. Jubes was nearing hysteria,  
and Jean - he couldn't help noticing - had thrown the roses Duncan had  
bought her onto the auditorium floor.  
The gymnastics team, Kurt's follow-up act, were glaring daggers at him  
as he played up to the audience. They were doing everything short of  
actually carrying him offstage to give him the hint that it was their  
turn, now. One of them handed him Jean's roses with a rictus rarely seen  
outside of a mauseleum. He could swear he heard the rose-handler say,  
"Get. Off."  
Kurt pretended to be deaf. He accepted the roses and waved cheerily to  
everyone in the auditorium. Then he took his time picking an assortment  
of other thrown flowers off the floor.  
He was puffing and blowing with exhertion, and practically dripping  
sweat, but every girl in the place didn't seem to care. Kurt sat heavily  
on a bench and towelled the worst of the sweat off while a cluster of  
girls crowded the rails near where he sat. He guzzled water and they  
strained themselves to touch him.  
Kurt, not being a moron, stayed out of their reach until they returned  
to their seats.  
The gymnastics team did their level best to wow an audience that was  
not really interested in them.  
Kurt, having drunk his fill and cooled off a little, carried the  
flowers right up to where the X-men were sitting. There was a minor  
scuffle for the roses.  
"Sorry, ladies," Kurt said, still breathless from his performance,  
"but there's only one schone Dame in my eyes worthy enough for roses.  
Katzchen?"  
"Mrgl?"  
"I wasn't *that* boring, was I?"  
"Sorry, fuzzy. 'M a little outta focus tonight. Awww. You bought me  
roses."  
Duncan, seated three rows behind Jean, glowered at Kurt as if he  
wished the German to spontaneously combust.  
Kurt, oblivious to the rising atmosphere of lust and envy, leaned on  
the railing and chatted to Kitty. He only stopped when he noticed the  
gathering swarm of girls heading in his general direction.  
  
"That *bitch*!" Tabitha snarled. "If he'd given *me* roses, I'd've  
frenched him right there."  
"Yeah, but we all know you're sick and twisted, yo."  
"Shut up." Tabitha glowered at Kitty for a full minute before her  
leering eyes were dragged back to Kurt-watching. "Aw... he's just  
*sitting* there."  
"So watch the stupid gymnastics display and pipe *down*," rumbled  
Fred.  
"Rrrrr..." Tabitha stared at the gymnasts. None of them, in her humble  
opinion, were as hot as Blue. "This is boring."  
Her opinion spread out in a general sussuration of feminine unrest. It  
grew into a whisper, then a murmur. Then, someone whose name started with  
'T' and ended with 'abitha' started a chant.  
"Boooooooooooooooo! We want Kurt! We want Kurt!"  
"That does it. I'm gone," said Quicksilver.  
"Ditto," said Toad. "I don' wanna get caught in the middle of no riot,  
yo."  
  
"We want Kurt! We want Kurt! We want Kurt!"  
Good grief, they were starting to stomp along with the chant.  
Principal Kelly winced. Hadn't any of these people heard of standing  
waves? Or the effect that continuous, rythmic vibration *had* on  
stationary structures?  
The star of the show was obviously incapable of doing any more tricks.  
He'd worn himself out for them, and the gymnastics team was clearly a  
poor substitute.  
Kelly ran around the floor to where Kurt was sitting. "We've got to do  
something before it turns into a *riot*," he said.  
"You're," Kurt panted, "kidding me."  
"Just step up to the mike and explain that you're tired. Something.  
*Anything*."  
"Man, I can't even *juggle* right now." Kurt levered himself up and  
trudged over to the mike while the gymnasts wished rains of vitriol on  
his head.  
There was a cheer as he tapped the mike.  
"Es ist nice to know I'm so loved," he managed, trying not to pant  
down the PA system.  
The girls in the audience screamed.  
"Please. Please. I can only do so much, you know. And these very  
talented people, here," he gestured at the gymnasts, "have been working  
twice as hard as me to put together a good show for you all. Give them a  
chance, ja?"  
The chant started up again.  
Kurt waved at them to stop. "I can't do it. I'm sorry. If I try  
anything else tonight, I'll faint. That won't be a good show at all,  
ja?"  
This time, they giggled.  
"Come on. This is our trophy winning gymnastics team. Give them a  
hand!"  
They applauded. The gymnasts actually started liking Kurt again, and  
Principal Kelly could relax.  
On his way out, Kurt said, "I think it may be better if I hit the  
showers, now. Help them forget I was here."  
Kelly snorted. "You're welcome to try it, Mister Wagner."  
  
Some people can wear perfume. Some people can't. Of the latter group,  
there are two extremes. The first extreme is those people for whom  
perfume doesn't stick; it evaporates from their skin in a very short  
time and doesn't leave a ghost of its essence around. The other extreme  
is the group of people for whom an atom of scent becomes a deluge; they  
amplify any essential oils to hit their skin, and have a hard time  
getting rid of the artificial scent.  
Guess which group Kurt is in.  
He couldn't know, for example, that heating his body with excercise or  
a hot shower, would only amplify the effects of the generous amount of  
D'artagnion For Men already influencing all womankind within sniffing  
distance.  
He couldn't know that the diminutive amount he'd tried almost a month  
ago had taken half a week to wear off. He'd just thought all the girls  
were being unusually friendly.  
In short, he was becoming a chick magnet.  
  
Kurt emerged from the steam in his tight costume, because he'd  
neglected to bring along a change of clothes, and headed for the vending  
machines. A little candy and soda would see him through until  
dinnertime, and if he was lucky, he could see how the gymnasts were  
doing.  
Although, from the complete lack of applause coming from inside the  
stage, they were probably not doing too terribly well.  
Kurt fed change into the machine and punched a code. The little spiral  
thingy stopped just short of delivering a large packet of Ju-Juice Boms.  
"Verdammt thing..." He shook the machine and jounced the packet loose.  
Another string of change and another code resulted in a jammed Choco-  
Power bar.  
This was getting monotonous.  
It was a real pity that repairing school property without proper  
authorisation was technically theft, because otherwise, he'd have the  
machine gutted, tweaked, and back in full working order. Instead, he had  
to settle for shaking and cursing.  
"Hey, Blue," Tabitha cooed. "What'd the machine to do you?"  
Kurt pointed to the Choco-Power bar that was hanging on the hook of  
the spiral thingy by a fold in its wrapper. "It's being a thief," he  
said, chewing on one of his Ju-Juice Boms. "I paid for that candy. It's  
*mine*."  
"I could -ah- fix it for ya."  
Kurt raised an eyebrow. It had been three minutes and she hadn't even  
tried to take one of his candies. "Can you fix it without blowing it  
up?" he asked. "Tonight's performance was to help pay for the incidental  
damages that *you* guys wind up causing, you know."  
"We appreciated it," she purred. "We really did. And it's my turn to  
pay you back, just a li'l." She turned and flying-kicked the vending  
machine.  
It wobbled on its base, teetering dangerously at one point, before it  
settled back into its place. More or less. It also dropped the candy bar  
into the collection bin.  
"You *are* insane," Kurt laughed, retrieving his Choco-Power bar.  
She felt up his backside.  
"*HEY*!" Kurt had barely had time to retrieve his candy.  
"Just takin' a chance while opportunity knocks, Blue. You have *such*  
a nice ass."  
Kurt backed away. "Ja, and it comes with accessories." All he had to  
do was make it back into a relatively public place. Maybe he could join  
the audience or something.  
"I always love your ass," Tabitha cornered him somehow and found the  
tail under the holographic image. "And the accessories."  
Had it been *Kitty* running her hands across that little spot where  
his tail departed from his back, he wouldn't have minded so much. But  
Kitty never wanted to touch him, and that was the reason he was confused  
over Tabitha. He knew that it was only a matter of time before the  
blonde mutant used him for something, and she did it so nicely that it  
hardly hurt at all, but -- it still hurt.  
"You are," she announced in a whisper as she brushed herself up  
against him, "*so* Goddamn sexy."  
"Hands off him, bitch." It was another of the more - aggressive ladies  
of the school. But she usually threw herself at senior jocks. "He's  
*mine*."  
_Guess I'm temporarily a Jock, tonight._ "Actually, I'm mine," he said  
as the girls faced off, sidling away from Tabitha. "And I have to get  
going. See ya." He put on a pretty amazing turn of speed, considering  
his exhaustion, and wound up cowering in a darkened alcove. _Man. What  
was *that* about._  
"Oh wow," someone giggled. "I can't believe I found you back here.  
This is amazing." She was one of Kitty's friends from computer class.  
The quiet one who blushed a lot and hid behind her binder. "I love your  
costume. It totally shows off your -ah- assets."  
_You mean 'package'._ "I really should have got a new one. This is far  
too tight on me, now."  
"Oh, *I* think it's perfect," she giggled, turning very pink. "I kinda  
like you," she blurted.  
It was the D'artagnion. It had to be the D'artagnion. The saleslady  
*said* that no woman alive could resist it. He just thought that was a  
pitch because Kitty, the one woman he was aiming at, had been able to  
casually ignore him. He really, *really* shouldn't have tried to use it  
like a deoderant.  
"Das ist sweet, really," he said, not wishing to break her heart. "But  
I'm sworn to another. I really can't--"  
"Hey-yyy..." cooed another female. Rogue's friend Risty. "Fancy  
meeting *you* here. Did you know you smell *awfully* nice for a guy  
that's been working out?"  
"WhoopsisthatthetimeImustbegoing!" Kurt took off before either girl  
could get close enough to try feeling him up. Sure, most of him was  
covered in lycra, but it was the bits that weren't that were going to be  
the most trouble.  
He wolfed down the Choco-Power bar and chased it with a generous  
handful of Ju-Juice Boms as he ran. He was going to need the energy if  
he was going to avoid a mob of scent-crazed women.  
He couldn't contact Jean for help. For all he knew, she could be  
influenced, too. And Jean had some very large boyfriends who would get  
very jealous in a rather short amount of time.  
He needed to think.  
Somewhat difficult when just about every girl in the place was coming  
after him. Some travelled in packs, probably thinking to share him,  
while others fought like cats in a sack. Even the odd teacher had a  
predatory gleam in her eye.  
This was the furthest from a dream come true that he could hope for.  
Kurt threw open a window and dived out, running into the night.  
  
Evan blinked. These guys did *not* have rythm. Their timing was out by  
a whole quarter-second.  
Damn. He'd been hanging around Kurt too long. K-man tended to measure  
his acrobatic routine/drill in sixteenths and fourty-eighths of seconds.  
*And* he contantly bitched to the Professor about getting a rig set up  
somewhere. Rumour had it that he'd completely cleaned out one of the  
sub-sub basements, ready to accept it.  
He leaned back and tried a little girl-spotting, letting his gaze  
drift where it would and hope it'd catch something interesting. That was  
when he noticed.  
Nothing but guys. All the girls had just - gone. The only ones left  
were Aunty O, Rogue and Kitty, who had fallen asleep in her chair.  
He elbowed Scott, who was kind of dozing himself. "Hst! Where'd all  
the girls go?"  
  
It was a full-out bitch fight. Those that weren't already brawling  
were working up to it by swapping the most hideous insults and personal  
secrets that Kurt never wanted to hear.  
He was stuck on top of a street light, using its glare to hide his  
presence from the explosion of women below. At least, up here, he could  
hear himself think.  
Kurt was too tired for more than one short 'port, preferably in a  
southerly direction. The magnetic field of the Earth tended to influence  
him heavily whenever he was hungry or tired.  
This time, he was both.  
_I think it's past time to see if some of the optional extras in this  
watch are working,_ he thought, bringing up the comm link and tapping  
out an SOS. _Please work, please work, please work..._  
  
{pipipip peepeepeep pipipip}  
_Someone had better turn off that pager. It's driving me nuts._  
{pipipip peepeepeep pipipip}  
_Where *is* the asshole who's got it? I'm gonna pound him, pretty  
soon..._  
{pipipip peepeepeep pipipip}  
_Whoops. It's me. Damn these new commwatches._ Evan blushed and ducked  
into a vacant corridor and answered it. "Who's jerkin' around?"  
"Evan! Thank you, *yes*. You've got to get Scott and bring the car  
around to the corner of Twelfth and Oak. I need a rescue."  
_Huh?_ "Why don't you just pop off to the mansion?"  
"If I could have, I would have. Just get Scott and get there. Don't  
tell any of the girls. Not *one*, you understand?"  
Evan raised an eyebrow. "This is getting wierd, but - okay..."  
"You should try it where *I* am," said Kurt. "Hurry."  
Okay, so that was not only wierd, even for Kurt, but it also sounded  
true. Evan hurried back to Scott, the only one allowed to touch his  
precious car.  
"Scott, wake up!"  
"Snx? Wsfgl?"  
"Kurt's just sent us an SOS. He needs a bail-out at Twelfth and Oak."  
Scott yawned. "Wha' bout--?" he gestured a thumb at the remaining X-  
men.  
"Forget them, we've gotta book. Aunty O will take 'em in the X-van."  
"...mrgh." He staggered down the corridoors to his car. "Where we  
goin' again?"  
This was going to take a while.  
  
"Okay. So we're here. Where's--"  
{Bamf!} "Drive! Schnell!"  
"--Kurt." Scott glared at him. "Do I even want to know what's going  
on?"  
"Didn't you hear me? Move! It's only a matter of time before--" He  
looked behind him. "...oh Gott..."  
Scott checked it out. Running towards them at full pelt was just about  
every female in the school. He planted his foot on the accelerator and  
zoomed away from them. "Man. You weren't kidding when you said chicks  
dig the fuzzy dude."  
"Shut up..."  
Evan was staring at Kurt. "Have you gone *insane*? You could have had  
the cream of the crop, man..."  
"Ja, shortly before the others *killed* her. It's a madhouse, back  
there." He leaned back on the seat. "Ohhh... I'm starving. Too much  
running."  
"All we got are Tic-Tacs, K-man," Evan rattled half a box of them.  
"Sorry."  
Kurt took them anyway, scarfing them down in less than a second.  
"Ugh... I'm so hungry, I'll even eat Kitty's Home Ec. experiments."  
"Dude, there's no *way* you could be that hungry. Remember her  
cruelty-free mayonnaise?"  
There was a mutual shudder.  
"Alright, so I'll skip the condiments."  
"You *are* starving."  
  
Trouble caught up with him again in the Institute, when he'd finished  
telling his story over his fifth plateful of dinner. The rest of the X-  
men came home, and that included the girls.  
Kitty stomped up to her bedroom without even saying a word.  
Rogue drifted in for an out of character hug with her half-brother  
before drifting out again, in search of entertainment.  
Amara, Jubes and Jean hung around and giggled a lot. They were  
definitely friendlier than they usually were towards him. In Amara's  
case, stunningly friendlier.  
Jubes was the first one to sidle up to him and run her fingertips down  
his arm, lingering when she reached the soft fur on his hands. "You  
really shouldn't cover up, you know," she said. "Your fur is like, *so*  
amazing."  
_I wish Kitty thought so._ Because it was night, he could feel where  
she was without having to concentrate. She was up in her room, on her  
bed, and probably monopolising phone time with Lance.  
Kurt couldn't 'get' Kitty liking Lance. The boy had tried to *kill*  
her, and there she was, casually flirting with him as if nearly killing  
a girl was an opening gambit in the lists of love. Maybe it was some  
peculiar American thing. Where he came from, one gently wooed a lady  
with softer, prettier things. _Maybe that's why I'm getting nowhere with  
her. I'm not nasty enough..._  
He sighed, and Amara lifted his head up. "Is something bothering you,  
boy?"  
That was a rare sign of favour from Amara. He usually got 'peasant'  
thrown at him like a casual epithet. They hadn't really got along ever  
since she'd arrived, and announced that he, Kurt, could have the  
privalege of moving her luggage to 'her suite'. Things escalated after  
that when she found out she had to share a room, while Kurt kept one to  
himself, *and* his was bigger than hers.  
_Curse me for wanting to make friends rather than keep enemies..._  
"Ja," he said. "Katzchen."  
The room temperature dropped.  
"That little bitch."  
Kurt didn't want to know who said that. They were under the influence  
of D'artagnion For Men. They didn't know what they were doing. "Please.  
Don't do anything to her?"  
Maybe it was the fact that he'd said 'please'. Maybe it was the broken  
way he was sounding, but he could feel the three girls around him power  
down.  
It was Jean who came out with the cracked and wobbling, "You really  
love her, don't you?"  
_I can't stand this. It hurts too much._ All the same, he couldn't  
stop the confession, now. "I just don't know what to *do*," he said.  
"I've tried everything, and it all just bounces off like it doesn't  
matter. If only I knew what to do..."  
Three female faces quirked up into nasty smiles. They were going to  
give him *bad* advice in the hopes that he'd be shot down so badly that  
they'd be able to step in.  
"Never mind," he sighed. "I need to go change." He 'ported into his  
room before anyone could offer to help.  
Logan was waiting for him. He did not look happy. "Pretty impressive  
stinkwater you bought, Elf. Enjoying the consequences?"  
"You won't believe me, so why don't we just skip to the punishment,  
ja? It can't make my night much worse." He slouched over to his bed and  
fell on it.  
"Thought you'd be living it up. You love bein' the centre of  
attention."  
Kurt couldn't deny that. "Attention, ja. Flat-out lust, nein. They  
were *frightening*, Herr Logan."  
Logan sniffed, and his feral demeanor dropped. "You actually smell  
*upset*," he said. "Underneath that solid layer of I-want-sex *stink*  
you're wearin'. Did you even *read* the information sheet?" Logan held  
it up.  
"I thought it was ad copy," Kurt protested. "That looks a lot like the  
brochure."  
Logan sighed. "Kurt," a true sign of seriousness. Logan rarely used  
names. "This stuff works on a chain reaction. Molecules in this stuff  
replicate yer natural pheremones, and fuel that reaction by eatin' up  
any bacteria livin' on yer skin."  
"Uh... That's - bad. Right?" Curse his trouble with English - the  
*other* reason he hadn't read the folded sheet that came with the box.  
"On you, that's very bad. You never needed any extra pheremones."  
"That's what you say," Kurt murmured. "Kitty seems able to ignore them  
just fine."  
"Half-pint's had a cold for the past month, Elf. She can't smell a  
thing."  
"*WHAT*?" How could he not *notice*? "When? She hasn't been  
complaining, or acting out of sorts... When did this happen?"  
"Near as I figure, she's had it for about a month."  
Kurt got up and found a nice wall, then he started pounding at it with  
his head. "Dummkopf, dummkopf, dummkopf, *dummkopf*..."  
Logan literally picked him up. "Knock that off right now, Elf. We  
gotta get that stinkwater off ya before things get crazy."  
"What do you mean 'get'? Things *are* crazy! I only bought it in the  
first place 'cause she said I smelled bad and -- Gott, ich bin ein  
dummkopf..."  
Logan carted him to the guy's bathroom. "Yer a teenager, kid. Comes  
with the territory. All those hormones scramble yer brains."  
Kurt, meanwhile, had started to pray. _*Please* let this stuff come  
off with soap? Don't let it come to a bath of tomato juice and  
toothpaste? Please?_  
  
_I hate this, I hate this, I hate this..._ Kurt screwed his eyes shut  
and shivered as Logan, Mr McCoy and Scott all worked tomato juice into  
his fur. It had to be cold, Logan said, because heat helped the active  
ingredients in the _D'artagnion For Men_ to work.  
"How are you holding up?" Scott asked.  
"I want to die," Kurt mumbled. "This is worse than my fifth A-day."  
"A-day?"  
"I don't have a B-day. Get it?" The half-smile on his face was more of  
a grimace. "I got hit by a civet cat." At Scott's confused look, he  
added, "Das ist like getting 'skunked'."  
"Ew."  
"The whole village had to come by and give handy hints. From upwind,  
of course." Kurt sighed. "At least the village *knew* me. Here? Who  
knows? Somebody might like to gossip."  
"Not if *I* have a say in it," said Logan. "Awright. Time to rinse 'im  
off before round two."  
_I hate this._  
  
Kitty stumbled downstairs in search of a painkiller. _When is this  
cold going to like, go *away*?_ Her head hurt, she felt miserable, and  
she didn't want to make waves. It'd look like she was playing for  
attention after Kurt's big success at the show.  
The kitchen was unseasonably warm. Something she secretly appreciated,  
what with the chill.  
"Gutenabend, Katzchen."  
"Like, hi," Kitty almost hadn't seen him there. What was with the  
blanket and the hot chocolate?  
Kurt sneezed.  
_Oh._ "Like, *please* don't tell me I like, gave you my cold?"  
"Nein, leibe. I'm just defrosting." He sneezed again. "Why didn't you  
*tell* someone you were ill?"  
"I can like, handle it. A little decongestant here, some visine there.  
Like, half a ton of Tylenol. Like, nobody's the wiser."  
"Decongestants are the worst thing for a head cold, leibchen. They  
make the virus stick around longer."  
"I know, but --" Kitty sighed and flomped into a handy chair. "I  
didn't wanna come off like some whiny brat. Not when you were like,  
working so hard and everything."  
"Idioten, die zwei von uns..." Kurt muttered.  
"Whut?"  
"Never mind," Kurt stood up and gave his blanket to her. He had his  
jammies on. "Here. You can keep this warm for me while I make us some  
Schokolade. And some chicken soup."  
His second-hand body-heat was extremely comforting. It made half her  
headache go away, just like that. Kitty found herself smiling as she  
watched him putter around the kitchen, lecturing her on how she had to  
indulge herself now that she'd admitted being sick. Half of the placebo  
effect, he said, were endorphins. Therefore, the better she made herself  
feel, the better she was going to get.  
_I *like* that philosphy._  
They wound up sharing the blanket in front of a fireplace and sipping  
chicken soup together. Kitty secretly revelled in the feel of his very  
warm body against hers, and the comforting touch of his fur. She was  
always worried that she might offend him by unconsciously petting him,  
so she avoided physical contact altogether. This close, however, she  
couldn't help but run her hand along his fur.  
_So soft..._ he was eminently pet-able. Kitty often found herself just  
wanting to rub up to him and snuggle in. She risked a peek at him as she  
gently stroked his arm.  
He was smiling, and watching her.  
Suddenly aware, Kitty blushed and forced herself to let him go. His  
tail wrapped itself around her wrist, and gently guided her back.  
"I don't mind it, fraulein. Honest. You can pet me any time you want."  
Kitty blushed all the harder. "I'm gonna like, totally give you my  
cold."  
"Then we can nurse each other back to health," he said. "It'll be  
fun."  
Despite the blush, Kitty grinned. "Sounds like a deal to me, Fuzzy-  
elf."  
  
Elsewhere in the mansion, Scott noticed a discarded cologne bottle in  
the trash. It was nearly full. He looked at the lable and whistled.  
D'artagnion For Men. Expensive stuff to just throw away.  
He read some of the blurb that he also rescued from the trash.  
_Irresistable to women, eh? Looks like I might not need to learn  
acrobatics, after all._ He grinned as he spritzed himself under his  
shirt, then jumped up and down a bit to get it warmed up. He put the  
bottle and the blurb on his dresser and went off seeking Jean.  
She was having a little gossip-on-ice-cream session with the other  
girls. Rahne, Amara, Jubilee, Rogue, they were all there. Except Ororo,  
who was off doing whatever she did at this time of night, and Kitty, who  
was sharing a fireplace with Kurt.  
"Hey, ladies," he breezed, leaning on the door.  
Five girls got some very predatory grins. "Well, hel*lo*-oooo..." They  
giggled.  
Scott's grin turned into a rictus. _Maybe I shouldn't have used so  
*much*..._ 


	11. Part the Eleventh: On the Silver Screen

Part the Eleventh: On The Silver Screen  
  
[Author's Note: Sorry. This has absolutely nothing to do with  
Quicksilver/Pietro. Deal. You know, if you're *that* hungry for Pietro,  
you could go write him into some PWPs of your own :) ]  
  
It was the entertainment unit of the century. Nay, the millenium. Nay,  
the *eon*. Kurt could feel drool collecting on his lip. It had  
everything but bathroom fixtures.  
"Whoah," he said for the fiftieth time.  
And there was a competition to win it.  
All he had to do was make a film, and there were billions of  
categories. He could *do* this. He really could. He had the skills. He  
had the technology - care of a dusty abandoned box in one of the  
basements. He had the space - care of cleaning *out* said basements on a  
punishment detail. He even had a wild idea.  
All he needed was money for the film stock and an entry form.  
The entry form was free. He was halfway there.  
  
Logan could hear the hammering clear across the other side of the  
Institute, but then, he had super-sensitive senses. If it wasn't for the  
earplugs Chuck had given him, Logan would never be able to survive the  
kids' wake-up music every morning. Especially since the Elf had borrowed  
one of Rogue's thrash metal CD's, claiming it gave him just the scare he  
needed.  
Considering the -er- 'fluffy' way he looked in the mornings lately, he  
may have had a point.  
Regardless of their morning habits, someone's new hobby was starting  
to tick him off. Just when he thought the mystery hammerer stopped, they  
started again. Surely no-one on Earth would need that many nails in  
something unless -- Logan broke into a run at this point -- they were  
building something really *big*.  
Chuck sure as hell didn't authorise it, because he would have warned  
Logan that the kids were up to something.  
Logan burst onto the incriminating scene with a harsh, "All right.  
Who's doing what and why wasn't anyone told?"  
"Guten tag, Herr Logan!" The Elf looked up from what seemed to be part  
of a house frame. "I guess I should have put up soundproofing first,  
ja?"  
"What the hell are you doin'?"  
"I'm building mein set," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing  
in the world. "I scrounged all the parts myself. Can you believe all  
these things weren't wanted?"  
"The Prof know what you're up to?"  
"Er. Not - exactly... He was sort of busy when I asked. I figured I  
shouldn't bother him further with anything." That nervous smile was  
supposed to be ingratiating. It just grated.  
Logan folded his arms. "What did you tell him? Your *exact* words."  
"I... said I was going to enter a competition."  
"That's it?"  
"Das ist it..."  
"Are you gonna *tell* me about this competition, or am I gonna have to  
beat it out of ya?"  
"You're not mad?"  
"Not yet. Spill it, Elf. Now."  
"Oh, you should see it, it's so *cool*..." Kurt began, then vividly  
described the exact sort of entertainment unit that would guarantee  
Logan some soundproofing in his room. Then Kurt outlined the  
competition. Make a film, they said, anything from a short to a feature-  
length movie. The categories were so wide and varied that Kurt's idea of  
a musical short would fit right in.  
One scene. One tap number on a revolving set, and the one-man elf show  
was done. It couldn't take him more than a week.  
_Ah, shoot,_ Logan thought. _May as well help the little hairball.  
Keep the hammering down to a minimum. Besides, if he's got his heart  
*this* set on winning the thing, *I'm* sure as hell not gonna stop him._  
Fortunately, or unfortunately - depending on one's point of view -  
others had ears as well. The noise of construction bought down some,  
while the search for some bought down others. Pretty soon, the whole  
Institute was buzzing about Kurt's 'little project'.  
Evan decided to be cameraman. Kitty giggled her way into becoming the  
female lead - even though there were only two parts and Kitty got the  
only line. Just about everyone else helped.  
The Professor, somewhere upstairs, managed to enjoy the relative peace  
and quiet for a change.  
At least until the music started.  
  
Evan looked at the set. There were several things that were going to  
go wrong with the shoot. He could *see* it. "Uh. K-man? Don't you think  
something's wrong with the set?"  
Kurt looked at it. The chandallier, the curtains and the little  
ashtray that he was going to drop the 'house keys' into. "Looks fine to  
me," he said, screwing the metal plates into the bottoms of his built-up  
shoes. Ordinarily, he hated the things, and only wore them rarely,  
during muddy season. Today was different.  
Evan didn't know when Kurt had figured out he could tapdance with the  
ungainly things. All he knew was that he just did it one day after  
Wolverine had been on a binge, at Xavier's insistance, to teach Logan a  
lesson in being a role model.  
"Dude, the shot's going to screw up the second you go up the wall.  
Everything's going to go sideways."  
Kurt just grinned at him. "Have faith, mein fruend."  
"Your funeral," Evan sighed. He readied the camera. "Speed!"  
"Kurt's short, take one." Scott snapped the clapper in front of the  
camera. "Action!"  
Kitty giggled. "Like, thanks for a wonderful time," she said, and  
kissed Kurt on the cheek. "Gotta go. My dad's like, here."  
Kurt, looking human, waved her goodbye and shut the door.  
Roberto turned on the music. Full blast. It didn't matter, because it  
would have to be looped, anyway. The mike was set up to pick up Kurt's  
tapping.  
Kurt was pretty nimble, even *with* those hideous built-ups on. Evan  
almost didn't notice when he began tapping up the wall. Then his jaw  
fell open.  
The keys were staying in the ashtray. The curtain was still apparently  
obeying gravity and pointing to the floor. The chandallier was doing  
likewise.  
_How in hell?_ Evan figured out the ashtray. It must be at least  
partially magnetic. The chandallier was wired up so that it wouldn't  
move.  
No it wasn't. Kurt deliberately whacked it with a hip, making it swing  
to and fro. Even the little chandallier pieces swung about. _Spring  
loaded... Sneaky little elf._ But how was the curtain staying put?  
Kurt came to a grinning stop, back on the floor, as the music came to  
a close. Then, behind them, the Professor scared everyone.  
"*What* is going *on* down here?"  
Kurt looked absolutely horrified.  
"Cut!" Yelled Evan, stopping the camera.  
"Icanexplain," said Kurt, holding up his hands in surrender. "Please,  
don't ground them, it was my idea."  
"Kurt..." the Professor sighed. "Whether or not I ground anyone is  
entirely up to you explaining what's going *on*, here."  
Kurt took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. How fantastic  
the entertainment unit was. How fabulous it would look in the common  
room, where everyone could enjoy it. How he was going to win with his  
little entry in the special effects competition. How he didn't want to  
interrupt the Professor's phone call any further with what the  
competition was or how he planned to win it.  
Evan winced. Prof. was going to come down on him like a ton of bricks,  
this time. This probably went *way* beyond 'unauthorised extracurricular  
activities'.  
At the end of it all, the Professor was pinching the bridge of his  
nose. "Let's see the rushes," he said.  
A handful of seconds ticked by in stunned silence.  
"You mean it?"  
"I've only seen the last few moments of your work, Kurt. The least I  
can do is see what sort of effort you've made, before I make a  
decision."  
  
The figure on the screen danced jubilantly up the wall while the  
camera apparrently stayed on the floor. Even those of them who had seen  
it happening oohed and ahed.  
Then it all went pear-shaped.  
Kurt tapped a series of pirouettes, and in the middle of one, his  
normal shape popped out for the whole world to see.  
"No way, man!" Evan objected. "I was watching the whole time! His  
holowatch behaved. It was *working*!"  
Kurt had his mouth open in fear and dread. A tiny noise escaped his  
throat.  
His image returned to humanity on the trip down the opposite wall, but  
everyone could see that the damage had been done. Yet, oddly enough,  
Kurt was smiling. He'd figured something out.  
"Dude, that is *so* over. We're doomed," said Scott.  
"Nein... I can make it work. The holoprojector didn't fritz. It was  
out of synch mit the camera... I can make this shot work. I just need a  
bigger movie."  
"Kurt?"  
"Everyone will think I'm a special effect!" He crowed. "They'll never  
know how we did it! It'll work and it'll *wow* them! We're going to  
*win*..."  
Evan groaned. Kurt and his wild ideas were a guaranteed wreckage zone.  
"I'm gonna need a day, maybe two. Six pencils, some rubber bands - and  
some time on your computer, Katzchen. Oh, and -er- your kind permission,  
Herr Professor?"  
_Oh yeah. This is going to be a doozy. I'm wearing my helmet for a  
whole month..._  
Xavier was hiding a smile. He had that look of terminal curiosity that  
seemed to follow Kurt wherever he went. People got it when they just  
*had* to know what he was going to do next. Or what was going to  
*happen* because of what he did next. "You have it," he said. "I think  
this might be an enriching excercise for all of us."  
Kurt was grinning like a maniac.  
Evan went into his personal version of Defcon 4.  
  
"He's *what*?"  
"He's *typing* with them, for the fiftieth time," said Rogue. "He's got  
the pencils strapped to his fingers and he's using them to type."  
"Lead end or eraser end?"  
"This *is* Kitty's computer, remember? Of *course* he's usin' the  
eraser end."  
"D'oh!"  
Jamie chose that point to run into the room. "Hey guys! You won't  
believe what *I* just saw!"  
"Kurt's typing with pencils strapped to his hands," said Roberto.  
"Seen it," said Rogue.  
"Heard about it," said Amara.  
"Thinking about publishing a newspaper," added Evan.  
"...darn," said Jamie. He wasn't allowed to swear. "I never get to the  
cool stuff first."  
  
"You're kidding."  
"Just proofread it, man."  
"A Romantic Musical Horror film?" Scott made a face. "This is *nuts*."  
"It's going to *work*," Kurt insisted. "Just make sure I didn't screw  
up the English, ja?"  
Scott read. "I see you've made our monster sympathetic."  
"How could I not?"  
"You *can* sing, can't you?"  
"Ja, but I'm a better hoofer. I think I got mein fill of singing in  
choir practice."  
Scott stared at him. "You've *got* to be kidding. *You* in a *choir*."  
"What? It was *Heirelgart*. Nobody cares how anybody looks in  
Heirelgart."  
Scott gestured with the script, "You've got to give yourself at least  
one song. It's in the rules of musicals. Maybe a duet with Kitty."  
Kurt grinned. "I know just the song!" And then he threw himself back  
at the computer.  
  
"So, how's the beta draft?"  
"Interesting plot," said Hank. "Quite a twist on boy-meets-girl and  
boy-versus-monster."  
"Ja. And?"  
"It's a little - surreal in places..."  
"The hero has a warped mind."  
"Apparrently, so does the writer," said Hank, fixing a pointed glare  
at Kurt over the tops of his glasses. Finally, he sighed. "The English  
checks out, however, I still want see you in some counselling sessions,  
okay?"  
"Es ist not autobiographical, man. I just wrote what made sense."  
"Exactly why I want to see you in some counselling sessions."  
"Haha. Very droll. Can we film it?"  
"Talk to the Professor."  
Sigh. "Jawohl."  
  
The Professor had approved. Now he had a far tougher audience on his  
hands. The cast.  
"I don't get it," said Evan.  
"Please, God, do *not* explain it *again*?" Rogue begged. "You just  
*act* it, Porcupine. Y'all don't have to *understand* it."  
"No offense, Fuzzy, but this like, reads like one of those like,  
foreign films my Mom goes to like, *cry* at? The only thing like,  
missing is subtitles."  
"Page seventeen," said Ray.  
Kitty looked. "Okay. It *is* one of those wierdo foreign films my  
Mom'd like, adore."  
"*Duh*," said Jubes. "Foreign-guy writer? *Hello*..."  
"Clue to Kitty, clue to Kitty. Respond, Kitty," said Bobby.  
"Leave her alone," said Kurt.  
"Why am *I* one of the villains?" asked Amara. "The audience is going  
to hate me."  
"Ach, villains get the best lines," said Kurt. "And it's a natural way  
to display your full acting talents."  
"Like she has to *act*," snorted Kitty.  
"Hey..." warned Scott. "We're supposed to be a team, here. No  
fighting."  
"You screwed up, elf," said Logan. "I got the part of the school  
counsellor."  
Everyone laughed.  
"Nein. You're the counsellor."  
"*WHAT*?"  
"He's an intimidating figure to the hero. And you do intimidating so  
well, ja?"  
"Why did I agree to do this?" Logan asked the heavens.  
  
"I bought everyone sand...wi...ches..." Ororo's face fell. The  
basement sets were full of Jamies.  
One of them was grinning at her, fit to burst. "Hey, Ms Munroe!" He  
called. "Guess what *we* found out we can do?"  
She took a stab at it. "Woodwork?"  
"Isn't it the coolest?" said another. "We can actually *do* something!  
Something cool, that is."  
"Where's the original Jamie?" There was no way they could afford to  
feed the vast proliferation of clones. Not even with the emergency  
stores that filled sub-basement seven.  
"Uhhhhh..." said about five of him.  
"I can narrow it down to half a dozen," said a voice from the ceiling.  
A blue arm reached down and snaffled a PBJ.  
"I was wondering where you'd gotten to," said Ororo. "How can you be  
that accurate? We always have trouble when he loses track like that."  
"I found a ratty old party hat in one of the boxes that used to be  
here," he told her. "Every time he accidentally dupes himself, he makes  
the clones take off the extra hats."  
Sure enough, there was a pile of identical ratty party hats in a  
corner.  
Kurt cupped his hands around his mouth. "Party hats, front and  
centre!"  
Sure enough, six Jamies appeared, each wearing a disreputable party  
hat.  
"And -er- what happened to get you confused about these six?"  
"We fell down the stairs," said the Jamies. One winked out of  
existance as they spoke. "The original got kinda lost in the shuffle."  
"Nicht ist es wundervoll?" Kurt grinned. "We get the sets built in a  
fraction of the time, and the workforce just vanishes at the end of the  
day."  
{Crash!} "Whoah!"  
"Give or take a few," Kurt added.  
  
"Hey, Beast."  
"Jamie." Hank didn't even look up from his reading.  
"Herr McCoy."  
"Kurt."  
"Hey, Beast."  
"Jamie."  
"Hey, Beast."  
Deja vu. Hank looked up. It was a parade. About every third Jamie  
chirped a greeting as he passed. Each was carrying - or helping other  
Jamies to carry - some mostly-wooden object out of the basement sets.  
Down the hall, they met Ray.  
"Ray."  
"Ray."  
"Ray."  
"What are you idiots up to, now?"  
"We have to have exterior shots, you know," said Kurt. "It can't just  
be a bottle movie."  
"I'm not gonna ask," said Ray.  
"He means something that's done all indoors," said one of the Jamies.  
Further down the hall, "Hey, what is this? An ant farm?"  
"Hi, Jubes."  
"Hi, Jubes."  
"Hi, Jubes."  
Hank turned some pleading eyes towards the Professor, who was hiding  
behind his newspaper.  
"Yes, I *am* still going to allow this," he said. "The effort they're  
going to will make them appreciate the value of their prize."  
"You make it sound like they're going to win."  
Charles folded the newspaper down. "I have the utmost confidence in  
them," he said. "But I can also easily afford the entertainment unit.  
Either way, I feel they would have worked hard enough for it."  
"Aha," Hank murmured. "A little cheating, hm? Even if they lose,  
they'll win."  
"Quite."  
  
"Hey, these flowers are like, fake."  
"CUT!"  
"Of course they're fake," said Kurt. "It's bad luck to have real  
flowers."  
"Kitty, your line is, 'Uh. Thanks. I think. Word to the not-so-wise?  
Try a professional arrangement.' Not, 'These flowers are like, fake',  
okay?"  
"Jean, just because you're like, assistant director doesn't mean you  
can like, abuse people."  
"Man, we're *working* for that entertainment unit..."  
"Are these like, fabric?"  
"Katzchen, please stop messing mit the flowers? They took hours to  
make."  
"You like, *made* these?"  
"Oma ran out of things for me to do, one winter. So what? A little  
knowledge ist a useful thing, ja?"  
"I'm really starting to wonder about you, K-man," Evan muttered.  
"Oh, and I guess you'd prefer we *bought* everything? We barely have  
the cash for film stock and -- will you get out of mein face mit that  
*camera*?"  
"Hey, I'm doing a making-of thing. Prof insisted. He's keeping me in  
batteries and tape."  
Someone's watch pipped.  
"Time for lunch," chirped Jubilee.  
"Rrrfff..." Kurt took off the holowatch they'd rigged for filming and  
put on his usual one. "With a little luck, maybe tempers would have  
cooled by the time we finish eating. With a little luck, maybe we can  
get this *scene* done."  
  
"K-man, you are really going strange on us, here."  
Kurt continued to wipe down the old window with petroleum jelly. "It's  
an old movie trick. We don't have cheesecloth, so we're using this."  
"*What*?"  
"You film through it and you get a nice romantic haze," explained  
Kurt. He held it up. "See?"  
"Hey cool..." Evan looked through the portal. "How do you know so much  
about all this?"  
"Winters get *really* boring in Heirelgart. Trust me on this."  
  
"Okay, so *why* 'Windmill park'?" Evan asked as he watched Kurt put  
the artificially-aged sign up in front of a grove of trees.  
"It's an in-joke. The first movie Frankenstein's Monster was chased  
into an old windmill."  
"I'd like, take his word for it," said Kitty. "Kurt and ancient film  
are like *that*." She held up two crossed fingers.  
"Kommen diese Weise," Kurt gestured for them to follow. He lead them  
to a clearing in the wood where a massive boulder lay. There was a new  
park bench snugged up against the vertical side. It still had a 'wet  
paint' sign on it.  
Kitty obeyed human nature and touched it to see if it was.  
"I wondered where that went," said Jean. "So this is the little park  
where nobody goes, huh?"  
"Don't tell me you're like, starting to understand the script," said  
Kitty.  
"So I like art films. Deal." Jean toured around the rock, climbing it  
with a minimum of effort from the low side. "I didn't even know this was  
here."  
"I'm full of surprises," said Kurt.  
  
"Okay, now this ist one of the big fantasy sequences. I want to see  
everyone *happy*, okay?"  
"Ready, mister music," said Evan.  
"Uh. We have a problem," said Jean.  
"Vas?"  
"The Professor's read the fine print in the entry form. We can't use  
any copyrighted music."  
There was a mutual groan.  
"A week's work right down the drain..."  
"It's not a problem," said Kurt.  
"You *have* gone nuts, K-man."  
"Come *on*. Who here can play a musical instrument?" Kurt held up his  
hand.  
There were several other uncertain hands in the air.  
"See? We just form a band and do covers of everything we're using.  
Easy."  
"Uh. Hello? No musical instruments?"  
"Obviously, *you* haven't gone to sub-basement thirty-six."  
"Oh. Right. I forgot. Herr Punishment-detail over there," Jubes jerked  
a thumb at him. "What sort of instruments are we talking about?"  
"Everything your little heart could desire, fraulein."  
  
They set up an audio room in the basement underneath the sets. It was,  
after all, already soundproofed.  
Ray played a riff on the drums. He was grinning like a little kid on  
Christmas. "Ha. I thought there'd be a fight for the drums with you  
around, Elf."  
"Hey, it takes real skill to play one of these," Kurt licked his lips  
and pumped the slide of the trombone. "I think some of us may need some  
warm-ups first, ja?" He blew a phrase out, and only one note was off. "A  
lot of warm-ups."  
"You are like, *too* much of a perfectionist," said Kitty. She tried  
out her sax. "Ugh. This like, *so* needs a new reed. I'll be like,  
back."  
Rogue was tuning her accoustic guitar. "What *I* can't figure out is  
why the Professor never told us about all this stuff."  
Scott played a rather loud riff on his electric guitar. "Ahhh, brings  
me back."  
"Do the math," said Jean. She was helping a crowd of Jamies put  
together the sound board.  
"*Evan*... get outta here with that..." said Sam. He was setting up  
the mikes. "We're tired of your 'making-of' jerkin' around."  
"Ye point that at me *one* more time, daftie, an' ye'll get a chanter  
where a chanter was never meant to be," Rahne threatened Evan with part  
of her pipes. "Lord alone knows what kind o' sound we'll have."  
"I do," said one of the Jamies. "'Evan, get lost!'"  
"Oh, hahaha. I'll just find somewhere out of everyone's way, then."  
"You do that."  
  
"Urgh." {Whump!} Hank buried his face in the pillows on the couch.  
"I take it I shouldn't ask how your day was," said Ororo.  
"They made, _Now I'm A Believer_ go on for *fifteen* minutes..."  
groaned Hank. "Replete with German verses."  
"Have they decided on a name yet?"  
Hank sighed. "They're still arguing between 'X-static', 'The Flying  
Mutants' and 'The Basement City Rollers'."  
"What happened to 'Sergeant Logan's Lonely Hearts Club Band'?"  
Hank glared at her. "You *know* Kurt was the only one bucking for that  
one."  
"*I* liked it." Ororo smiled. "I thought it was cute."  
"I put in my vote for 'X-static'," said Hank. "It's easier to spell."  
"Kurt's doing the credits, huh?" Ororo handed him a mug of hot  
chocolate and a painkiller, which he took with a greatful sigh. "I think  
he's the only one who still knows who's doing what."  
"Either that, or he's making them up out of whole cloth."  
  
"What do you *mean* I don't get to beat you up? I've been *waiting*  
for this scene!"  
"Chill out, Ray. You get to do all the yelling," said Kurt.  
"Yeah. Post-production."  
"Look," said Jean, "all the violence is never seen. Just the  
consequences. It's because Kurt's character erases the events from his  
mind. All the audience sees is flashes of white and new wounds."  
"When you think about it, it's more violent than showing the attack,"  
said Kurt. "The audience's mind fills in everything. It makes the horror  
more intense."  
"You," Ray announced, "are damn wierd."  
"Ja, I know. Can we do the scene, now?"  
"...rassafrassingrumblemumblestoopidelf..." Ray sighed. "Okay. But  
this better look frikkin' good."  
  
"What's this musical number for?"  
"*Duh*... It's like, the happy ending."  
"Naw, it's a dream sequence."  
"No way, the window's in storage. It's for real. Besides, Kitty  
rescues him in the scene right before this."  
"Oh yeah, I forgot. Doing things out of order like this does my head  
in."  
"Where's the Professor? Isn't he like, *in* this scene?"  
"Aw, man, we're losing the light..."  
"Sorry I'm late," announced the Professor. "I had a little trouble  
with my costume. *Someone* told me I had the shirt on backwards."  
Kurt grinned. "Couldn't help myself."  
"Hurry up. The corset on this thing is like, *killing* me. And I look  
like a Faberge merangue!"  
"You look beautiful, leibe," Kurt soothed. "Every girl who sees this  
scene will go green mit envy."  
Kitty blushed.  
"Are we ready, now?"  
"Yes, O great and powerful assistant director."  
"Shut up, Evan. Kurt, lose the holowatch. Jamies three through seven,  
ready the confetti. Storm, a light breeze, please. Hank, get the boom  
out of shot. Okay. *Action*."  
The confetti fell seemingly from nowhere while Kurt and Kitty enacted  
a wedding scene like no other. Kurt was grinning like a fool and  
everyone knew why. The kiss.  
  
Kitty was acting her heart out to look happy and slightly possessive,  
the way all brides looked. All the time, inside, she knew she was going  
to ruin the shot, somehow. She was going to scream or react when Kurt  
kissed her. Everyone *knew* she wasn't into facial hair, and now she had  
to be kissed by a guy who had a fine coat of fuzz all over.  
All too soon, it was, "You may kiss the bride."  
Her heart jumped into her throat as he moved closer. She closed her  
eyes and parted her lips, leaning towards him. _I hope nobody guesses  
this is like, my first kiss..._  
His lips touched hers gently, softly; in a series of light semi-kisses  
that moved ever deeper each time their lips met. His tongue brushed  
against her mouth and she welcomed it.  
_Like. Wow._  
He was making her head spin. His fur was like silk, or down. _So soft  
and warm..._ She kissed him back, taking subtle little cues from him on  
how to respond. He tasted sweet.  
_You may *stop* kissing the bride..._ the Professor prompted inside  
both their heads.  
Kitty could feel Kurt's grin as his answer.  
Lord alone knew how he expected her to dance after *that*.  
  
"*So*?" Rogue prompted as they made their way to the recording studio  
after dinner.  
"What?" said Kitty.  
"Is he a good kisser?"  
"*Rogue*!"  
"Come on. Share a li'l. Y'all know I have to live vicariously. Spill  
it!"  
"Ain't tellin'," Kitty held her nose up in the air in mock arrogance.  
"Because if I did, you'd want to steal him. Every single one of you."  
"Ooooohhh..." said Rahne. "That's *good*."  
"If he wasn't such a gypsy peasant," teased Amara, "I may even deign  
try him out."  
"Was his tongue fuzzy, too?" asked Jubes.  
"Shut *up*..." Kitty blushed.  
  
{Ring ring}  
Hank took the headphones off before he picked up the phone. "Hello?"  
An adult, with a German accent, "Wer sind Sie? We were forwarded here  
looking for Kurt."  
"This is Hank, one of Kurt's tutors. You must be the Wagners."  
"Ja, das ist us. Wo bist unser Kurti?"  
_'Kurti'?_ Hank tried not to snigger. "He's recording in the studio at  
the moment. I'll try to catch his eye." Hank made some inventive  
handsigns at the group in the studio until one of them tapped him on the  
shoulder. Then he did the international gestures for 'you' and 'phone'.  
Kurt slapped his forehead and the recording session broke down.  
"You should hear the latest of their hits," said Hank. "You've raised  
a very cynical young lad."  
"That doesn't sound like our Kurt."  
"Trust me. It's him. No-one else could have come up with words like  
this."  
Kurt pried the phone off him and did his best ingratiating, "Jawohl?"  
A laugh. "Gutenabend, Mama! Papa... Nein, I'm not cynical. I was just  
being funny. Es ist about the beauty industry. Ja. I think I can get you  
a preview." He gestured to the girls, who trooped in with lyric sheets  
in hand. "Leiben, Mama und Papa want to hear our song. Think you can do  
it acapella?"  
The girls grinned, gathered around the mouthpiece, and burst into  
song.  
"You must be beautiful,  
It's your duty to be beautiful,  
You must be young and beautiful,  
If you want to be loved..." they chorused.  
Amara, "You must wear Savoir Faire."  
Kitty, "But it's expensive,"  
The rest, "Ha! You can ask us if we care,  
You must be clothed in Savoir Faire,  
If you want to be loved..."  
One by one, Kurt's lyrics shot down clothing, makeup, shoes and  
hairdressing. He even had a verse on perfume.  
Hank had to put his hand over his mouth to stop laughing. Funny or  
not, it was still damn cynical. Come to think of it, the acapella  
version sounded pretty good. They'd have to try a track when Kurt's  
parents hung up.  
"You like? Es ist *not* cynical! It's a humour piece. *Honestly*..."  
Then again... "Girls? Would you like to try an acapella version in the  
studio while Kurt takes his call?"  
The vote was carried, three nods to two shrugs. They even got it down  
before Kurt hung up, despite his attempts to crack them up by pulling  
faces at them through the glass window.  
  
It was the wee small hours and, despite their whirlwind shooting  
schedule, Rahne couldn't sleep. Like most nights she couldn't sleep, she  
wanted to *do* something. She took the chanter - the part of her  
bagpipes that actually played the melody - off and sought a solitary  
place where she could compose/practice without waking anyone else up.  
The first place that occurred to her, the sound studio, was already  
occupied. A large reel of tape was spinning on its slowest setting and,  
judging by the amount of tape already on the recorded reel, Kurt had  
been up for some time.  
There was a little doll-version of Kurt propped up against the console  
side of the studio window, and Rahne had to smile. _His mum made 'im a  
just-like-me doll. Cute._ It was even wearing a set of jammies exactly  
like Kurt's.  
Everyone here, as far as she knew, had some little childhood knicknack  
from home. Ostensibly, it was for luck; but the real reason was a little  
touch of home comfort in a strange place. Rahne's was a moth-eaten old  
stuffed toy dog she called Bowfy.  
Kitty, the only one to actually own up to still playing with stuffed  
toys, had a little dragon she called Lockheed.  
Kurt's was obviously a knitted blue demonic moppet with gold button  
eyes. And - she had to see and touch - a crochetted little tail, replete  
with spaded tip.  
It was a really good thing that Kurt routinely played with his eyes  
shut.  
The music stopped. "Verdammt. Take fifty-seven." There was a deep  
breath, and the music started again.  
It sounded something like a flute, but it looked like Kurt was playing  
a tuber of some variety. It was small, round and sounded sweet and  
lonely.  
_Ye daftie,_ Rahne chided. _It's an ocarina. Of *course* he'd play it.  
He's got the right number of fingers 'n' all._  
Rahne snuck into the studio, proper, leaving Bowfy to keep Kurt's  
moppet company, and sat herself in front of a mike. She raised the  
chanter to her mouth, and started to jam.  
If Kurt was surprised, he showed no sign. The only emotion was a tiny  
hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.  
The music soared, painfully lonely and as sweet as heaven. Rahne  
wanted to cry, but she somehow kept her emotions in check until they  
came to a stop.  
"Wunderbar," Kurt whispered. "I think we can print that."  
"Aye," said Rahne. "D'ye want te try for a happier piece?"  
Kurt grinned. "Naturalich," he said, then told the microphone, "_Happy  
Place_, take one."  
  
"*Damn*," said Evan for the fiftieth time.  
Rogue touched her eyes.  
"What *are* those instruments?" said Ray. "It's driving me nuts."  
"I played me chanter," said Rahne. "That's Kurt on the ocarina."  
"What? That like, weenie clay thing that like, looks like a dove?"  
Everyone stared at Kitty.  
"Well it like, *does*, okay?"  
Hank rewound to a little before the beginning of the piece, plugging  
in the headphones so he could check on something. "Sixty takes, Mr  
Wagner?"  
"Es ist the fur. I keep getting half notes when I want full ones."  
"So what's this?" Bobby held up a little blue Kurt-moppet.  
"Er. Das ist -er- ah...."  
"For luck," said Rahne. "Just like mine."  
"Ja. It's for luck. Ja."  
Jean was grinning her head off.  
"*Cool*!" Kitty was bouncing up and down. "I didn't know we were like,  
allowed mascots. Can I add Lockheed to like, keep 'em company?"  
Kurt's fur was darkening around his cheeks, a sure sign of stage one  
mortification. Stage two had him tying knots in his arms behind his  
back. Stage three was a full-out Kurt-tangle on a piece of furniture,  
somewhere. "Er. Ja. I guess. If you think it's lucky."  
It turned into a little dolly parade. After Lockheed, several other  
well-loved stuffed toys 'appeared' on the sill of the window, and Hank  
had to face an increasing audience of glass, button, stitched and  
printed eyes.  
Someone kept arranging Kurt's mascot in an embrace around Lockheed,  
which Kitty kept disturbing by moving the stuffed dragon somewhere else  
in the display. Yet, somehow, the little blue moppet would find itself  
once again wrapped around the neck of Lockheed.  
Everyone seemed to find it incredibly amusing.  
Once, Lockheed had appeared in a supine position with Kurt's  
'Schmerzmann' on top in a suggestive pose. Mr Crisp was suitably  
punished, after the laughter, screaming, and slap-fight died down.  
Evan had to be physically restrained from filming the dolls.  
  
"So how the heck are we like, going to film the mall montage?"  
"Mein Dame, I have a cunning plan," Kurt grinned.  
As a direct result, they wound up in a little oddessy of the Bayville  
Mall's restricted area, for a talk with the manager. He was not happy.  
"Absolutely not!" He said. "You're the tenth bunch of kids I've had to  
chase out of here with film equipment. There is not *one* thing you  
could say to me to get me to change my mind."  
"Ja? How about 'incidental advertising'?"  
"Another bunch of yahoos already tried it. I'm *not* going to be  
endorsed by a film calling itself the 'Blair Bitch Project', and I don't  
*care* how fast you talk, you're not filming here."  
"I smell the brotherhood," Jubes murmured.  
"We're not them," said Kurt. "This is a sensitive movie about  
accepting people despite their differences. It's more - art - than  
parody."  
The manager glared at Evan, who wore a shirt that read, on both sides,  
"Students filming, please don't gawk" and murmured to himself.  
"*Or* we could just film the outside of the mall for an establishing  
shot and then build up a bunch of sets."  
"Yeah," said Evan, playing devil's advocate. "Didn't you find some old  
clothing racks in the dump or something?"  
"And we could like, put some old pre-loved stuff on them and pretend  
like, retro is in," said Kitty, who got what they were up to. "No-one  
will like, notice the difference."  
The manager's eyes bugged. Everyone could practically see the word,  
'misrepresentation' dancing in front of his eyes. "I don't think I'd  
have any real trouble having my mall placed in an artistic film. Just  
try not to interrupt normal business practices *too* much."  
They waited until they were out of his sight to exchange high-fives.  
  
"Logan, you're being too nice!"  
"I never thought I'd hear *that*..."  
"Come on, you're character's menacing. Be a little bit meaner. Growl  
or something."  
"I can't believe I agreed to this..."  
  
Hank sighed. "I can't read these lines. They're not me."  
"That's why it's called like, 'acting', Mr McCoy," said Kitty. "Relax.  
It's just like, your voice. Nobody ever like, sees the abusive uncle,  
and you're like, not working under your real name, anyway."  
"Ja," said Kurt, "You're going to be 'Hank LaBette'."  
"LaBette?" Hank sighed.  
"Come on, nobody else has enough bass. You can do it mein Herr."  
"I can't believe I agreed to this..."  
  
"Kurt, this isn't going to work," said Ororo. "Everyone will be able  
to tell I'm also playing Evan's Mom for the film."  
"Not if you make your voice warmer. Besides, you'll be speaking German  
for this part. No-one will notice, Ich verspreche."  
Ororo sighed. "I can't believe I agreed to this..."  
Kitty, also at the mixing board, said, "Why is it like, *all* the  
adults are like, having trouble with their like, voice roles?"  
  
"Wait a minute, I thought I was also 'Trish' in the mall..."  
Kurt grinned. "You're all Trish, all the time. Except when you're  
being the ghost-mama's hands, of course."  
Jean sighed. "Just when I was beginning to understand this... So in  
your character's world, all salespeople are Trish?"  
"Ja, das ist it. If you want to feel better about it, we can give you  
different hairstyles for each role."  
Jean had a speculative look. "Okay. I think that could actually  
*work*."  
  
"Ready Katzchen? This ist our duet. Think you can sing like you're in  
love?"  
Kitty smiled. "Kurt, this is like, nearly method acting."  
"Wow. Those toys truly *do* bring luck..."  
"Are we *quite* ready?" Hank drawled over the speaker. "Done flirting,  
Mister Wagner? Miss Pryde? Okay. _Something Stupid_, take one."  
Rogue began strumming her guitar.  
Kurt started, "I know I stand in line until you think you have the  
time to spend an evening with me..."  
  
There was a film festival with all the entries involved. Some insisted  
on calling it a marathon, with cinema six in the Bayville Mall showing  
movies pretty much nonstop.  
The judges worked on a rotational basis which dictated the order in  
which the categories were shown. Thus, multiple categories got shown  
towards midnight.  
It was a stroke of luck that the Brotherhood's _Blair Bitch Project_,  
being a Horror/Parody, got shown right next to the Institute's _Blue  
Love_, which was a Romantic/Musical/Horror.  
Through a mutual agreement, both teams decided to keep the sparring  
verbal; the first team to make the other team tell them to shut up would  
win. Likewise, yelling or speaking above a whisper was an automatic  
loss.  
Win what, no-one was sure.  
  
"You know, it's amazing what four idiots mit handycams can do these  
days, ja?"  
"Who are you calling an idiot, freakshow?" Lance hissed.  
"Wait, wait. Haven't I like, seen this movie?"  
"Et tu, Kitty?" Lance pleaded.  
"Yeah," whispered Jubes. "This whole thing was done to death years  
ago."  
"Yeah, but *we* got a surprise ending," gloated Fred.  
"There it is," said ScreenTodd to ScreenLance. "That's the house.  
*Her* house..."  
ScreenLance said, "But - didn't it burn down twenty years ago?"  
"Help! Help me!" screamed both ScreenPietro and ScreenFred from off  
camera.  
"We're comin', guys!" yelled ScreenLance.  
The handheld cameras toured the lower section of the Brotherhood  
boarding house, which was as close to a ruin as one could get and still  
have it habitable.  
"Ewwwwww..." said Kitty. "Like, gross-o-rama. I can't believe they  
like, *live* there."  
"Oh look," Kurt pointed out a rat, "it's Lance's baby brother."  
"Shut up, freakshow."  
"Ha ha! We win! You have to shut your mouths for the entirety of our  
movie. Dummkopfs."  
"Rrrr," said Lance.  
"Rrrr," mumbled Fred.  
"Rrrr," growled Todd.  
"Rrrr," murmured Tabitha.  
"Rrrr," snarled Pietro.  
On the screen, Lance met an appropriate demise at the hands of the  
Blair Bitch - played by Tabitha. She was dressed in her normal clothes  
and more concerned with getting Todd and Lance out of her room than  
acting. Though, to their credit, the Brotherhood *did* make it look like  
they 'died'.  
The lights came up for a short intermission.  
Neither the Brotherhood nor the X-men moved. They all stared at the  
judge as she made notes. Then the lights went down and the X-men all  
broke into grins.  
  
_Blue Love_ opened with a POV shot, Kurt's ficticious guardian, played  
by Logan's arms and Hank's voice, was reading the Bayville Herald and an  
article about the local bogey-monster, the Bayville Demon.  
Kurt's voice. "Excuse me, fraulein? What are you in for?"  
Kitty's voice. "What?"  
"What are you in for?" Kurt's voice repeated. "Your hands look fine to  
me. In fact, they look perfekt."  
The paper went down, and everyone could see Kurt flirting with Kitty.  
He'd captured one of her hands and was examining each finger.  
Kitty giggled.  
"I can't imagine what such perfekt hands are doing here waiting for  
the hand doctor."  
"*Kurt*!" yelled Hank's voice.  
Kurt sighed. "Ich bin taurig, Onkel." Then, to Kitty, he mumbled, "I'm  
not allowed to talk to girls." He put up the hood of an army-surplus  
jacket he wore and stuck his hands in his pockets.  
The paper went back up, and the camera cut to a more omniscient POV.  
Kitty was trying to sneak looks into Kurt's hood. "FYI? My dad's the  
physiotherapist here. I'm waiting for him to finish work so we can go  
home. What are you 'in for'?"  
Kurt pulled his hood a little back and gestured 'shh' with two fingers  
over his lips.  
Kitty touched her hand, as if remembering how he'd held it. "Whoah...  
advanced ligamential tridactylism with muscular servility. That's pretty  
darn rare."  
Kurt whispered, "I'm glad *you* can pronounce it."  
"Kurt..." warned the 'uncle'.  
Kurt mimed 'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil' before he  
mouthed, "Sorry," at Kitty.  
Kitty rolled her eyes and went back to her homework.  
Kitty's father, played by Sam in a ludicrous moustache and a white  
coat, called Kurt into the office and asked a bunch of questions about  
his condition. The Uncle answered every single one. Each time he did,  
Kurt became more cowed and shy. After Sam pronounced his case hopeless  
without the correct medication - which the Uncle deemed too expensive  
for such a worthless boy - Kurt re-entered the waiting room to talk to  
Kitty while the Uncle's back was turned.  
"FYI, fraulein," he murmured. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever not  
talked to. I do hope I can not talk to you again."  
Kitty giggled, but this time Kurt was noticably away from her when the  
POV shifted back to the Uncle.  
Cut to inside a house. Kurt, his jacket now off, had his neck held  
tight in the Uncle's hands.  
"Ich bin taurig... Ich bin taurig..."  
"You're in *America*, slimebag. Speak *English*! I *know* you were  
talking to that little slut! How *dare* you disobey me! Worthless trash!  
You should have died with your whore of a mother!" The Uncle threw Kurt  
across the room, and the screen went white.  
"[Hang on, love,]" said Mother's voice, translated through subtitles.  
"[Any day now, you'll be free. Hang on.]"  
Kurt's voice, sounding hurt and weary. "Jawohl, Mama. Jawohl."  
Cut to Kurt, trudging to school. A blind teacher, played by Scott with  
a cane, caught him being tardy to his first day at his new school. Of  
course, the teacher finds out about Kurt's wounds, and they both wind up  
in the counsellor's office for a scene in which Logan the counsellor  
threatened to confront the Uncle.  
Kurt excused himself to run to the washroom, another POV shot, and  
when he washed his hands, they come out of the sink tridactyl and fuzzy.  
His face, though battered, remained 'normal'. Through careful and  
repetative words, Kurt calmed himself down and his hands returned to  
normal.  
And so it went, the surprisingly intriguing tale of a boy who found  
himself turning into the 'Bayville Demon' when his emotions got strong  
enough. Which was also a musical. Evan played Kurt's neighbor and  
friend, who found ways around Kurt's Uncle. And, periodically, the film  
would delve into Kurt's rather surreal fantasy life.  
The crowd scenes in the fantasies were handled by Jamie, who played a  
set of identical quintuplets. The rest of the time, it was a lot of  
close shots with noise recorded from various public places around  
Bayville.  
Kurt's flirtations with Kitty were complicated by the school bully,  
played by Ray - who enjoyed his role a little too much - and who  
considered himself the master of a popular-girl harem. However, he did  
manage to get her away from the 'in crowd', at which point she reverted  
to her usual, sweet self.  
Their covert happiness didn't last long when he finally transformed  
fully and completely into the 'demon'. All the people he knew thought he  
was going to destroy them, somehow.  
Except for Scott's character, who had only ever judged him by the  
person he was.  
There was a marvellous scene where the whole cast was demanding  
Scott's character to give them the demon, and he had to ask what they  
were talking about. He wasn't harboring a demon, he said, he was giving  
shelter to a frightened boy.  
Pity it didn't work on the crowd. Most of them ransacked the home,  
though Kitty and Evan crept away from the scene. Together, they realised  
that Kurt was still Kurt, even though his outside had changed, his soul  
was still the same. Likewise, they beat the mob to his hiding place -  
the little park where no-one went.  
There, Kurt was ready to die, only to be saved by Kitty and,  
symbolically, true love. And, of course, they lived happily ever after.  
  
The lights faded up as the credits rolled, revealing the Brotherhood's  
mutual stunned-mullet expressions.  
"I don't get it," said Lance, but it was more out of pure spite than  
any real feeling of confusion.  
"Of course not, you idiot," said Tabitha. "It's *art*."  
"We're *so* screwed, yo," said Todd. "That's goin' to *Cannes*."  
"Shut up," Pietro hissed. "Show a little team loyalty, willya?"  
"Oh. Uh. Yeah. Uh. That -er- sucked," said Fred.  
"That is just *so* convincing," Lance sarcasmed. He sighed and turned  
to face Kitty. "Sorry about the dweebs, pretty-- Holy *crap*!"  
Kitty had evidently been paying no attention at all to the film for  
quite a while. She was far more interested in kissing Kurt. Judging by  
the looks on the X-geek's faces, Kitty and Kurt kissing had become  
something of a regular spectacle at the Institute.  
"Ooooohh... crash and *burn*," said Todd.  
Fred gave Lance what he imagined to be a gentle pat on the shoulder.  
"There, there," he soothed. "There's more fish in the sea. Mmmm...  
fish..."  
Pietro was busy doing the 'loser' cough.  
Tabby was snickering.  
_I *need* asprin..._  
  
"Peasant... cease!" Amara put her book down and glared at the ceiling.  
"I'm *trying* to do my book report."  
Kurt, despite the Princess' protestations, kept pacing around on the  
ceiling. "Why does it have to take so long?" he asked. "Why can't they  
just confer and decide when the festival's over? It's been *weeks*...  
They've even taken the display down at the store."  
Amara sighed. "Obviously, you're in even *less* of a listening mood  
than usual. Is it possible to take your topsy-turvy fret-frenzy  
*elsewhere*?"  
"Maybe somebody else won and they don't notify the losers. But it  
wasn't even in the local news who won."  
"...stupid peasant," Amara mumbled. Then she had a bright idea. "Hey,  
I think I heard that Kitty was going to experiment with the deep fryer  
today."  
{Bamf!} He was gone.  
_Kitty and food. The magic combination for Elf-B-Gone._  
  
There was a small crowd around the set. The whole room smelled excited  
and nervous. Logan took in the scene - replete with elfin contortionism  
in the corner of the couch - and gave up.  
"All right. What's going on?"  
"The local station's running a special on who won the film festival,"  
said Evan. "But they aren't saying *when* it's on."  
"We can't miss a minute," said Jamie.  
"Shutupshutupshutup! It'sthead!"  
Twelve kids leaned forward, holding their breath.  
"Say when it's *on*," Rahne urged in a whisper.  
"SHHH!"  
The ad ended, again without saying when the feature was scheduled.  
There was an anguished cry from the multitude, followed by various  
screams at the screen.  
"Say when it's *on*!"  
"Unglaublich!"  
"You morons!"  
"NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
"Augh!"  
"The pain... the pain..."  
"That does it, I'm ringin' 'em up."  
"They're not answering the phone, remember?"  
"Jerks."  
"...whimper..."  
"Maybe they'll say in the *next* ad," and with that, they all fell  
silent again.  
Logan found Ororo on his way back out. "This has to be the first time  
in history that anyone's watched the local station for the  
*advertisin'*."  
  
The whole mansion was glued to the set by the time they actually aired  
the special, and, of course, the moment everyone was waiting for was at  
the end of several hours worth of cheap 'entertainment'. Just about  
everyone was yelling, "Get to the point!" before half an hour had  
elapsed.  
Charles Xavier couldn't stay in a room with so much telepathic noise,  
and retreated to the library. Ororo kept herself busy by feeding the  
kids, with Hank's help, while Logan propped up the doorframe and scowled  
at the tube.  
It was a minor miracle that the Brotherhood hadn't taken advantage of  
the situation and tried to start a war.  
  
Meanwhile, at the Brotherhood's abode...  
"...to win the twenty-inch flat-screen, surround sound TV. And the  
winner of the multiple category film contest is..." the bimbo on the  
screen opened the envelope. "The Bayville Brotherhood's _Blair Bitch  
Project_!"  
"YYYEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!"  
"We beat the X-geeks! We beat the X-geeks!"  
"We got a television! We got a television!"  
"Correction. We got a television that *works*, yo."  
Lance, meanwhile, was airing his ass in the general direction of the  
Institute. "YES! Pucker up and kiss it! Losers! Kiss mah leetle white  
bee-haind..."  
  
"...unglaublich..."  
"Hey, now. The competition isn't over," soothed Jean. "There's still  
the overall winner of the grand prize."  
"Nein, we won't win that. There were plenty of better films." He  
sighed. "At least we had fun, ja?" Kurt relaxed out of his knot and  
buried his face in Kitty's neck.  
"You bet it was fun," Kitty gave him a hug. "Betcha they like, bribed  
the judges or something."  
"Don't turn it off," said Jamie. "I wanna see who won the grand  
prize."  
"Yeah, like we were going to miss that."  
  
"We beat the X-geeks! Neener, neener, neener! The X-geeks are loosers!  
Ha, haha, ha, ha, ha!"  
"Shuttup! They're doing the grand prize."  
"And the winner of the overall best film is..." the bimbo struggled  
with the envelope.  
  
"The Xavier Institute's _Blue Love_!"  
"*Vas*?"  
"YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"  
"Ow! Kitty, I need that ear for later..."  
"Wewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewonwewon!"  
"...I guess he's *not* such a stupid peasant after all..."  
Jamie was dancing on the coffee table. "We got it! We got it! We got  
it! We-- whup!" {Thud} then three of him sat up and said, "Sorry."  
Logan sighed. _Chuck, I got good news, and I got bad news._  
_Don't tell me,_ Xavier's telepathic reply felt like he was smiling.  
_I think I can guess. Same news for both, yes?_  
_Close. Good news is, you don't have to buy them that fancy  
entertainment unit. Bad news is, soon as they get it, they're throwin' a  
loud party._  
_Should have ordered you those industrial earplugs..._  
  
"No *way*! The fuzzy freakshow *beat* us?"  
"Looks like you gonna have to pucker up an' kiss *his* fuzzy little  
butt, yo."  
"Shut up!"  
Todd held a piece of rope on his backside like a tail and waggled his  
rear at Lance. "Oh, ya! Dis ist mein victory butt! Keess mein furry blue  
bottom!" He made a moue, and loud kissing noises.  
And that was how the Brotherhood got a second Todd imprint in the  
plaster. 


	12. Part the Twelfth: Purr-fection

Part the Twelfth: Purr-fection  
  
Kurt was slightly bluer than normal, mostly because of his self-  
enforced isolation from his teammates and friends. His quarantine was  
induced by the creeping awareness that he'd been doing It again. Sure,  
at home, in Heirelgart, the little mountain village in the middle of  
nowhere, everyone knew him. They knew his little peculiarities and wrote  
them off as 'just Kurt'. A mere statistical blip when compared to the  
centaurs that lived in the next valley, and the possibility of fey folk  
in the woods near the snowline.  
In Heirelgart, Kurt was just someone else who was deemed slightly  
magical. Perfectly normal for an area that not only believed magic, but  
lived it. There, his funny little noises were part of him.  
Here in America, where everything was technology and science, where  
everyone thought that his lifelong best friend and his species was a  
running joke; Kurt was less than certain.  
They'd laugh at him. He was certain of that.  
Just like the boys from Statleindorf laughed when *they* found out.  
More animal than human, they'd said; next, he'd be wearing a leash and  
a flea collar.  
*That* careless remark still filled out some of his nightmares. It was  
amazing how often a word here, a comment there, or a silent stare would  
bore into his mind and create bad dreams. It was one of the reasons why  
he tried to look for the good in people. Almost obsessively. Because he  
was terrified of harming others like others harmed him.  
Just like he was afraid of the laughter.  
Or the screams.  
There were other noises that weren't so little. When he was truly  
angry or terrified, he couldn't help but give vent to a noise not meant  
to be heard by the ears of the living. Kurt truly was worried that it  
couldn't come from the throat of anything human, which would mean that  
*he* wasn't human, and the question he'd heard from others all his life  
would plague him in an existential quandry.  
Thus, he hid from his teammates, covering his trepidation in a thin  
veneer of exhuberance and jokes. He could keep them distracted, oh yes,  
but he couldn't keep It from happening.  
Especially around Kitty.  
She was the real reason he was feeling blue. Kurt wanted nothing more  
than to be close to her. Every day. Preferably as girlfriend and  
boyfriend. But that couldn't happen if he kept doing It.  
She had a hard enough time dealing with the fur.  
She'd never be able to deal with It.  
  
Kitty parked herself between Kurt and Jean and stuck her fork into her  
salad. It was one of her secret little vices to 'accidentally' brush up  
against Kurt and get a good feel of his fur. He was *so* funny. Whenever  
her bare skin touched him, he'd kind of freeze, as if he didn't know  
what to do. Then, in a matter of seconds, he'd start to blush.  
She worked her foot out of one of her sandals and complained bitterly  
about what they were doing to her feet. "Ugh. I like, *hate* having to  
wear new sandals around. They like, *totally* chafe. Ow..." She played  
at massaging her foot, then dropped it under the table and found Kurt's  
foot with hers.  
_Mmmm... Nice._  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
"Have you ever tried asking for that goop they sell?" asked Jubes.  
"You sorta rub this brownish gunge into the leather and it makes it soft  
and stuff? I forget what it's called, but just ask for the goop and  
they'll know what you mean."  
Kitty was ruffling and smoothing his fur while pretending not to have  
the slightest clue as to what she was doing.  
Kurt was turning pink, a reflection of the real blush that was making  
his fur look dark under the hologram.  
{...thrrrrrrrmmmmmmm...}  
"Like, no *way*. That stuff like, totally changes the colour of the  
leather. I spent all day like, looking for *this* colour. Not like,  
three shades like, darker."  
{...thrrrrrrrrummmmmmmblllllle...}  
"Your loss. Though I heard that blood can completely ruin leather."  
"Blood? Ew. Like, thanks a *bunch*, Jubes."  
"You're gonna cut yourself open on those things, I know it."  
{...ThhhhrrrrrRRRRUUUMMMMMmmmmmmmbllllllle...}  
"What's that noise?"  
Kurt choked on a fry. "I don't hear anything," he finally managed.  
There was a moment of silence as the team tried to hear the noise.  
"Eh. It's gone, now."  
Kitty resumed petting Kurt's 'instep' area with her toes. "That was  
like, unnecessarily gross, Jubes."  
"Hey, I just call it as I see it, girlfriend."  
{...thrrrrrrrmmmmmmm...}  
"Damn, there it goes again."  
Kitty was teasing Kurt's dewclaw-toe, making it flex and wriggle.  
"Like, what's *making* that?"  
"Verdammt!" Kurt had spilled his soda all over his shirt. "I gotta go  
clean this up."  
Kitty sighed. These things never lasted. More's the pity. Kurt was  
like, major league nervous. Maybe she should like, go easy on him for a  
while or something. Either that or tell him how much she was enjoying  
his fur lately, and see what happened next.  
The problem was, Kurt was like, hypersensitive about the strangest  
things. Like the whole winter coat thing. One bright little comment  
about how cushy he looked and he locked himself in his room for a whole  
week, apparrently trying to brush the lot down into a semblance of its  
Summertime smoothness. Kitty never knew if something meant as a  
compliment would result in some truly bizarre obsessive-compulsive  
'correctional' behaviour.  
Maybe she could like, call his Mom or something, and wheedle out what  
he was truly proud of.  
But then, he was such *fun* to tease like this...  
  
_Calm. Calm. Calm. Keep calm._ Kurt tried the three deep breaths, and  
got an anguished warble out of the back of his throat. _Thank God  
there's no-one else in here and get *CALM*!_ Howling was not going to  
solve any problems. It was going to *amplify* them.  
He had to calm down. Relax. Find his centre. Get back to a semblance  
of order before--  
"Hey, Kurt. You okay?"  
--someone checked up on him.  
"Leave me alone," he murmured, fighting to keep his voice clear. "I  
just need a minute."  
"It's already been ten," said Scott. "Are you worried about  
something?"  
Sigh. "Ja."  
"Look, whatever it is, no-one's gonna hassle you about it. It's  
probably no big deal in the first place. You know how these things turn  
out, dude. You spend way too much time stressing about nothing."  
"This is hardly nothing, mein fruend."  
"Is it Kitty, or Kitty related?"  
Kurt glared at him. Was he that easy to read?  
"Bullseye," Scott smirked. "I think you can relax about it. Word is  
that Kitty's starting to like you back. Just play for time and she'll  
come around. Trust me."  
"You just made it worse," Kurt groaned and rested his forehead against  
the mirror. "If she finds out, I'm doomed..."  
"Okay... It's going to be twenty questions. Fine. I can play." Scott  
took a deep breath. "Animal, vegetable or mineral?"  
"Piss off." _Human. I'm *human*, damn it! I *have* to be..._  
Scott whistled. "*Real* serious. Okay. You've got your space. When you  
get sick of chewing yourself up over whatever-it-is, you know you can  
talk to us, right?"  
"Just go away," Kurt pleaded. _Not an animal. Not._  
Sigh. "Right."  
  
"And?"  
"And nothing. Kurt needs a little space. Just let *him* choose when he  
gets close, okay?"  
"Not *one* clue about what's up with the K-man?" asked Evan.  
"Not even a hint of a clue. Leave it alone. Kurt knows enough to come  
to us if it's something he can't deal with."  
"I dunno. He kinda felt pretty stressed about *something*," mused  
Jean.  
"If he doesn't wanna talk, he doesn't wanna talk," said Rogue. "Let it  
lie fo' a change. Kurt's a big boy. He can deal."  
"Dankeshoen," said Kurt. He moved so *quietly*, no-one noticed he was  
there until he made his presence known.  
"Don't fret, bro'," Rogue soothed. "They're all just worried about ya."  
"I know."  
{...thrrrmmm...}  
"Maybe it's construction work or something," said Amara. "Those  
vibrations carry for *miles*."  
Kurt coughed, hunching in on himself. He took an intense interest in  
both his holowatch - fully operational and not fritzing - and his food -  
cafeteria fish platter and tapioca. Every atom of his body language  
demanded isolation.  
  
Somehow, he'd survived another school day. His throat was raw from  
clearing it all the time. Maybe he could fake a respiratory infection  
and stay home for a day. Get some R&R without having to fret about It  
all the time.  
Kurt leaned back against the couch and drowsed while the girls watched  
some drama. He only stayed where he was because he was both comfortable  
and nearly exhausted. The rest of the guys had cleared out for a video  
game grudge match down the hall. All that truly mattered, right now, was  
that he was right next to Kitty and It wasn't happening.  
He was nearly asleep when someone started playing with his tail.  
Kurt opened his eyes a crack to find out who it was. Kitty, absorbed  
in the goings-on on the TV, had picked up his tail and was running it  
through her fingers. It was a nervous habit, of sorts, though the target  
was usually some fabric object, like a corner of her sweater.  
He decided not to interrupt her enjoyment of the show and let her play  
with him. So what if she shrieked when she found out? The moment as it  
happened was enough for him.  
Few people thought of his tail as a body part. They just seemed to  
think it was a decoration or something. Or a handle. So many people  
yanked on his tail to move him about, little realising that their grip  
alone was painful enough to make him yell. As for pulling it - that sent  
a powerful jolt right up his spine.  
Kurt *tried* not to hold it against people, since they didn't think,  
nor make the connection between its prehensile nature and its ability to  
feel. Just like any other grasping body part, Kurt's tail was rather  
sensitive, to put it mildly. He got very *personal* about injuries to  
the tail, and would hold the grudge until he'd nearly healed.  
Very few people had ever treated it kindly. Which was why he was even  
*less* inclined to interrupt Kitty. Heck, he could feel it curling into  
her fingers of its own accord. Its spaded tip brushed against the back  
of her hand.  
_Her skin's so smooth. So lovely._ Kurt couldn't hide his smile. _So  
very, very nice._ He subtly shifted position so that certain anatomical  
responses to Kitty's - ministrations - would remain unnoticed. He  
sighed. _Ah, if only she'd touch me like this voluntarily... Not out of  
some nervous habit, but because she wanted to make me happy..._  
But Kitty had desires for more - he hated to use the word - normal  
boys. Even though she was warming to him, if rumour could be believed,  
she'd never want to be near the fuzzy dude full time.  
Kurt stifled a grunt. She'd put his pointy tail-tip in her mouth. The  
only people who'd ever done *that* before were babies. There was a world  
of difference. Babies never played with him with their tongues, and the  
pressure they used was constant and instinctual.  
_Oh no... oh no..._ he could feel It starting as a low, subliminal  
vibration in his chest.  
It was all he could do to regulate his breathing.  
{...thrrrmmm...} _No. Not now. Not in front of *her*..._ Whatever he  
did now, she was going to hate him. It felt wonderful, and he wanted it  
to never stop, but any minute, now, he was going to be revealed.  
More animal than human.  
And he couldn't stop It.  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
She was running her fingers along the sensitive underside of his tail,  
squeezing it gently in a series of quasi-massages. He was in heaven,  
because of what she was doing, but he was also in hell, because he knew  
what was going to happen.  
{...thrrrrrrrrummmmmmmblllllle...}  
Someone was going to notice. Someone was going to find out and it  
would all be over.  
{...ThhhhrrrrrRRRRUUUMMMMMmmmmmmmbllllllle...}  
"Is that thunder or what?"  
_No... please, no._ They were going to find out and send him away. All  
the way back to Germany. _Please, make something happen. Help me._  
Kitty sank her teeth into his tail.  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!! *Katzchen*!" He  
didn't care if he scared the living hell out of everyone else. "That  
*HURT*!" He forced his tail out of her grasp and all but bolted for the  
infirmary.  
He was bleeding. Wunderbar. He lifted his injured tail up to stop it  
throbbing so badly, and blew on it to try and cool it while he walked.  
He'd appologise for the disturbance, later. Right now he needed ice,  
antiseptic cream, gauze and maybe even a whole tab of tylenol. With a  
little luck, he may even still be friends with everyone by the time he  
came back.  
  
"Kitty, how *could* you?" demanded Rogue.  
"But I didn't even like, know I was doing it!" Kitty protested. "You  
like, *know* I play with junk when I'm like, tense."  
"It was Kurt's *tail*. You *bit* him!" said Jean.  
"I didn't know it was *him*!"  
"Hel*lo*... what *else* around here is fuzzy and serpentine?"  
sarcasmed Jubes. "Gee, let me think - 'cause you obviously didn't."  
"Fine. I'll like, go appologise right now."  
"Good. Go."  
Kitty wiped tears from her eyes. She really *hadn't* known what she  
was doing until Kurt screamed. It was just something soft to play with  
while she got increasingly involved with the characters on the screen.  
She hadn't even known she'd put his tail in her mouth.  
_He must think I'm like, totally cruel or something..._ Kitty stared  
at the floor as she walked, and saw the tiny spots of red. _Oh, ick.  
He's like, *bleeding*. I did that to him and I didn't even know it._  
She heard a moan from the infirmary, and risked a peek through the  
door. Kurt was on the examination table, sandwiching his injured tail  
between enormous ice packs. His eyes were screwed up, just like his  
face, in an attitude of extreme pain.  
"Are you like, gonna be okay?" she risked, hanging on to the door  
frame as if it would keep her safe.  
"Nnnhhh..." he said. "Eventually." He hissed a few breaths out between  
his teeth.  
"Do you want help?" she offered. "A painkiller?"  
"Not yet. Gotta get fixed up, first," he managed. His voice was  
totally stressed. "Painkiller's gonna knock me out in a minute or two."  
"There's this like, topical anasthetic cream," Kitty crept into the  
infirmary just far enough to take it out. "I could like, put it on for  
you. If you're not like, mad at me?"  
"Did you bite me on purpose?"  
"*No*! I like, didn't even know I was like, doing it! I didn't even  
know it was you!" Her lip trembled. _Oh no. Don't cry. Don't cry..._  
"I'm like, so sorry-eeeeeeeee..." and with a final squeak, Kitty burst  
out crying. She didn't want to lose her fuzzy elf, not now; and  
*especially* not over something so - so - *stupid*.  
Somehow, he'd got her into a hug, and was gently shushing at her while  
he patted her shoulders. "I'm not mad at you, leibe. Never. I'd only be  
mad if you hurt me on purpose. Shhhhh... If anything, it was my fault  
for not saying anything. Don't cry, meine leibe. Shhh... We can still  
fix it, ja? I'll heal. You'll see. Shhhh... There, there, there, now.  
Shhh..."  
Kitty sniffled to a stop. His cheek was against her forehead, and  
every now and again, he'd kiss her forehead. His fur felt *so* nice. And  
*he* was so nice. Why couldn't she like, *say* something?  
Because she never knew how Kurt'd take it, and she always seemed to  
put her foot in her mouth.  
She hummed her appreciation of the hug, and gave him a little extra  
squeeze before she let go. She was like, safe as long as she didn't  
speak. Kitty waved the topical anasthetic at him. "Want me to like, put  
this on?"  
He was smiling, but his eyes still held pain. "Be gentle with me?"  
In spite of how she was feeling, right now, she laughed. Kitty made  
sure she pulled a pair of gloves on before she spread any of the goo  
around. She didn't want numbed hands by the time she finished. "Okay,  
but you like, gotta let me know when I'm like, being too rough."  
"Fine by me," he said.  
Kitty gingerly lifted up the top ice bag. "Ooooooohhhh..." Even *with*  
the ice, it was swollen and distorted. Bruising showed through the fur.  
Blood still leaked through the broken skin. "I'm gonna have to wash this  
first, okay?"  
Kurt nodded. "Ja. I may jump a bit, but don't be afraid, okay?"  
_Thank God we did first aid training..._ Kitty daubed at him with a  
saline solution. Her hands were shaking, but she actually got it done.  
All by herself. Next, came the anasthetic, which made Kurt sigh. After  
she'd made sure he was quite numb, she gingerly probed his wounds. He  
wasn't going to need any stitches. Just a lot of antiseptics and a whole  
bunch of gauze.  
He was shivering a little by the time she was done. Kitty guessed it  
was shock from the pain, and made sure he was warm before she guided him  
to his room for the painkiller.  
_He wasn't like, joking about the painkiller,_ Kitty realised as she  
tucked the comforter around his slumbering form. _He's really out of  
it._  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
There was that noise again, too low into the bass registers to trace  
accurately, but loud enough to be heard. Kitty sneaked a goodnight-kiss  
near Kurt's upturned elfin ear before she crept out of his room.  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
Whatever it was, it was only annoying because no-one could figure out  
where it came from. Otherwise, it was kind of appealing. Kitty figured  
it had to be some mystery generator or something. It only ever happened  
at the Institute or at school.  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
Personally, Kitty was amazed by Kurt's ability to sleep through it. If  
that were her, drowsy on meds, she'd be tossing and turning trying to  
figure out what the sound was.  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
But then again, it *was* kinda hypnotic.  
"Will he live?" asked Amara.  
"He'll be okay. His tail's gonna be like, sore for a while, but he  
should be like, back to normal real soon, now."  
"Hmph." Amara stomped off.  
Kitty rolled her eyes. They *really* didn't get along. Kurt, the  
uncommon common-as-muck gypsy boy and the Princess were like oil and  
water. No, like *sodium* and water. Fizzing and sparks and sometimes,  
the odd explosion.  
She closed his door for him and crept away, hoping he'd be all right  
in the morning.  
  
Kurt woke up in a panic sometime around four in the morning. He was  
*sure* he'd done It right in front of her. The details were a little  
vague, but he knew she'd been in the same room as he was and he was -  
_Gott, nein..._ - he was *purring*.  
More animal than human.  
Kurt crept out of bed. His tail was an uncomfortable throbbing knot of  
hot pain, but it didn't ache as much as his heart did. By now, it would  
be all over the mansion. He couldn't bear it. Tears fell down his face.  
They knew. They all knew.  
It was a disaster.  
More animal...  
_*NO*! Not an animal. Not. I'm human. *Human*. Have to be. Not an  
animal..._  
Kurt choked down a howl of anguish. Not what he needed right now. If  
he howled, no-one would be able to shut up about it. There was only one  
thing he could do.  
Hide.  
He grabbed a few changes of clothes, his essential mementos from home,  
and ran blindly into the cavernous underside of the Xavier mansion.  
There were places down there that no-one knew about. He could probably  
survive for weeks on the emergency stores alone.  
Alone...  
He *hated* being alone. But he hated being laughed at even more.  
Kurt wondered if he could hide until the laughing stopped.  
Well. He'd just have to find out.  
  
"No note, no sign of a struggle, no phone calls, nothing," explained  
Scott. "Disa-Elvis-has-left-the-building-appeared. That's what I mean by  
'gone'."  
"He took his brushes," said Hank. "As well as his -er- personal  
mascot."  
Kitty bit her lip. _For 'mascot' like, read 'treasured childhood  
toy'... What did I *do* to make him pack up and book like this?_ She was  
*positive* she hadn't babbled, nor done anything overtly obnoxious.  
She'd even *asked* Kurt to tell her if she did anything wrong.  
_Congratulations, Pryde. You've hurt him again. Huzzah._  
Jean surfaced from her Kurt-hunting telepathic scan. "He's alive, and  
he's still on Institute grounds. I'm sorry, but he's blocking the rest.  
I couldn't tell you where he was if he was right under this table."  
"I'm afraid I had the same results," Xavier sighed. "Obviously, Kurt  
has no desire to be found."  
"Something had to set this off," said Evan. "Anyone have any ideas?"  
All the girls glared at Kitty.  
"*What*?" Kitty demanded. "I like, appologised for all that. He like,  
totally forgave me. If it's something I like, did? I don't know what it  
like, *is*, okay?" _Leave me alone. I like, hurt too much right now._  
As a unit, the remaining girls turned on Amara.  
"*What*? I haven't said *anything* to the stupid peasant for a *week*.  
*At* the Professor's request, I might add."  
"What I said was, 'if you can't say anything nice--'"  
"And I *have* been! It's not *my* fault if the bootless gypsy takes  
offense at a simple 'good morning'."  
"It's not *what* you said, Princess," said Rogue. "It's the way y'all  
said it. You know - like ya wished his head'd drop off for ya?"  
"Hmph." Amara folded her arms. "It's beneath me to speak to him at  
*all*," she muttered. "Stupid peasant."  
"But it ain't beneath ye ta pull a few pranks, now an' then," said  
Rahne. "Do anything to him, lately?"  
"*I* am a Princess of the Crown Royal," Amara huffed. "*And* I happen  
to be completely innocent. This time."  
"You're also a royal pain in the ass," grumbled Logan. "Consider  
yourself under suspicion until we get proof either way."  
Mumbled, "Stupid peasant."  
"Can't you like, sniff him out or something, Mr Logan?" Kitty pleaded.  
Logan's nose was legendary.  
"I would, except everyone and their kid brother's been walkin' over  
the trail to make certain the Elf ain't there. It's gonna be a while  
before I find a fresh track I can use."  
Kitty bit her lip again. She'd been one of the many tromping all over  
the place, trying to figure out where Kurt had gone. At least it was  
like, a weekend. They could look for him in peace and quiet without  
having to make up some bogus epidemic.  
They searched the grounds first. Kitty spent a teary handful of  
minutes perched on an otherwise ordinary boulder. It was where Kurt went  
to be alone so he could argue with the Almighty about whatever was  
getting on his pecs. From what she'd heard, it was mostly human nature.  
But then, he wouldn't come here, because he knew that she knew about it.  
She knew he came here, sometimes.  
Therefore, she must have like, *really* ticked him off.  
Kitty looked up at the sky, and whispered, "Help me find him? Please?  
I just want everything to be like, all right again. If that's like,  
okay..." _Well, it can't hurt to ask._  
  
To a casual observer, it looked just like every other stack of crates  
in the gloom of sub-basement thirty-three. To the casual listener,  
however, something wierd was going on.  
There was a bizarre, ululating noise that warbled at odd moments, and  
occasionally broke off into a more human sobbing. Someone - or  
some*thing* - was incredibly upset.  
You'd have to be quite a climber and something of a contortionist to  
even see who was making both noises, let alone get down to the tiny  
cubby that Kurt had made amidst the pile of crates. He huddled there in  
a nest of old army surplus blankets, clutching a knitted blue doll with  
gold button-eyes to his chest and weeping piteously.  
"How long do you think, Schmerzmann?" Kurt whispered through the  
tears. "Would they forget at all? Or will it be like the last time?"  
Another string of broken sobs. "Gott, I couldn't stand that again. I  
*can't* stand that again."  
The memories felt real enough to him, but they only happened inside  
his head. Only he heard the echoes of other's voices.  
'Hey, cool!' they said, 'Check out what he does when you do *this*!'  
and, 'Make him do it again!' And the hands, always the hands, in that  
welcome/unwelcome way. Touching him in ways that he loved/hated. Making  
him do It for their entertainment.  
And because they were bigger than he was, he couldn't stop them,  
couldn't escape. At least, not until Andrei came by and beat them up.  
Even though they were the same age, Andrei could always make four of  
Kurt, easy.  
He needed his centaur friend, now. He always felt *safe* when Andrei  
was around.  
But there was no-one here but him, and a doll that couldn't do  
anything at all but help him communicate his pain to parents that  
weren't even there.  
Softly at first, his howl rang out through sub-basement thirty-three.  
  
Kitty was wandering through basement level four. The one everyone  
called the Labyrinth, because of its twisting corridors and bizarre  
little rooms. It was easy to get lost there. So easy that no-one went  
down there without a piece of chalk. Only the Professor knew the twists  
of the Labyrinth by heart.  
No turns or doors had any KW's on them with that day's date. Nor  
yesterday's date. Like, how could anyone find him if he like, didn't  
leave a trail?  
_Maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to get so lost even *he*  
couldn't find himself._ Kitty jotted her initials and the date on a  
corner, with an arrow, in case anyone needed to find her. _Or maybe he  
doesn't like, need it with his famous sense of direction._  
_Left._ said a voice in her head. _Go left. Now._ It sounded like her.  
Sort of. Maybe this was like, the help she'd asked for.  
Kitty made her mark on the relevant piece of wall and headed left.  
Then she followed the corridor until her voice said, _This door._ in her  
head. After her mark was left, yet again, she found out it was a  
staircase.  
_Down,_ said her voice. Kitty left an arrow on the door and went down  
for what felt like forever.  
Around basement twenty-eight, she heard this *noise*. It was  
terrifying, even at this distance. She could tell it was pretty far  
away. Was Kurt in trouble because of whatever-it-was? Was it hurting  
him? Terrors filling her head as she went, Kitty increased her speed.  
It was coming from basement level thirty-three.  
_Hang on, Kurt. I'm coming._  
She ran through boxes, focussing on the sound. All she had to do was  
find him, then keep him phased and scream for help from the Professor or  
Jean.  
Wierd thing, though. Every time it stopped, she could hear Kurt  
gasping, as if in the extremities of sorrow and anguish.  
There. Behind those boxes. No, *in* those boxes. Kitty concentrated  
and walked through.  
She only found Kurt, curled up on himself, tears streaming down his  
face. *He* was making that noise. By the looks of things, he neither  
wanted to, nor could help it.  
Kitty let herself solidify so she could comfort him, snuggling in  
beside him in his little nest/cubby/hidey-hole. He clung to her like a  
child, and poured his misery into her shoulder. She could only  
understand one word in ten, but it was a repeating litany and she  
eventually got the whole of it.  
When she did, she slammed him into a crate and yelled, "You stop that  
right *now*, Kurt Wagner!"  
The shock, or the voice of authority broke him out of it. "Vas was  
that for?"  
"None of us think of you like that! *None* of us. Do you understand?  
You're our *friend*! And some of us - some of us --" _Say it._ "We love  
you. I - love you."  
He'd closed his eyes. He looked exhausted and defeated. "You're  
teasing me," he whispered. "Who could anyone fall in love mit - *this*?"  
He gestured with his tridactyl hands. They did no more than shake an  
imaginary globe in front of him, yet they encapsulated the entirety of  
his peculiarities.  
So did the little doll he'd just dropped on the blankets. It looked  
just like him.  
Kitty picked it up and cradled it in her arms like a baby. "Your Mom  
made this for you, didn't she?"  
"Ja." After a beat, he decided she needed more information. "I didn't  
want to talk when I got hurt - when I was a child. And no dolls were  
like me."  
"So she like, made you this little fellow because she was like,  
worried about you."  
"Ja..."  
"I guess that like, means she loves you."  
"She's my Mama." A sigh. "Mamas don't count."  
Oh. *That* kind of love. "Do *I* - count?"  
"Oh, ja. You count like anything."  
Kitty moved around so she could hug him. It was a bit of a tight  
squeeze, but she didn't care. "So why don't you like, believe me when I  
like, tell you I love you?"  
He looked at her. "You heard what I was doing before. You heard what I  
did last night. They're just two of the things I can do that - that no  
*human* can."  
"No *other* human," Kitty corrected. "And FYI, I don't have like, the  
faintest clue what you think you did last night."  
A very small voice. "Please. Let go? I'm starting to do It again."  
"I can't hear--"  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
"--anything?"  
Kurt had his eyes squeezed shut. Tears still leaked from their  
corners. He took a shuddering breath in, tried to hold it, and let it  
out.  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
"I can't help it. Whenever I feel happy, or - or very good... I --"  
{...thrrrrmmmmm...}  
"I *purr*."  
Kitty smiled. "I like it," she said. "It's cute. Just like you."  
{...ThhhhrrrrrRRRRUUUMMMMMmmmmmmmbllllllle...}  
"You - mean it?"  
"Do you like, see me running around and like, screaming?" Kitty wiped  
the tears from his fur. Incedentally petting his silky pelt. "I love  
you, Kurt. Funny little noises and all."  
{THRRRRUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMBLLLLEppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrr...} Kurt grinned,  
purring like thunder, just to have her in his arms.  
Kitty snuggled into him, brushing her forehead against his neck and  
holding him close. His hair was almost as soft and fine as his fur.  
_It's official. I'm jealous. I want hair like that._ "You feel *so*  
nice," she told him. "You're like, *the* nicest person to like, cuddle  
up to."  
He practically boomed, he was purring so loud. He was wearing the  
goofiest I'm-in-love-and-I-don't-care-who-knows-it grin she'd ever seen  
on him.  
Kitty had to giggle. "You're welcome."  
His voice warbled, because of the now-continuous purr. "Am I funny to  
you, leibe?"  
"No, silly. You like, *tickle*. I like it. I love it."  
"I'm going to have to throw you off, you know. I'm sorry, but I'm  
getting a cramp, all scootched up like this."  
"Like, *totally* ditto. Wanna like, phase outta here?"  
  
They took a walk around the basement. Not exactly the best scenery for  
a brand-new couple, but they weren't really paying attention to the  
scenery anyway.  
"I also growl," he confessed at length. "But I'm in too good a mood to  
show you, right now."  
"And how often have you like, done that?"  
"How often have you made eyes at Lance?"  
Kitty laughed. "I *never* made so much as a like, *eyelash* at him!  
Get a clue..."  
"But - you and he... I *saw*..."  
"I was like, laughing *at* him, Kurt. He's like, mega-pathetic."  
Murmured, barely audible over his purr. "I'd thought you liked him."  
"Aw. Poor Elfie..." Kitty gave him a hug.  
"Ew... *That* one better not catch. No offense, Katzchen, but 'Elfie'  
ist not me."  
"I was trying to be like, cute."  
"You're cute enough without trying, Schatz."  
Kitty giggled as they sat back down outside his former hiding place.  
"People are gonna be like, wondering where we are, pretty soon."  
His purr toned down. "Ja."  
"Are you like, *still* worried about like, how people will react?"  
Kitty hung herself around his shoulders with her arms. "Don't like,  
sweat it, okay? It's just like, part of who you are."  
"So you say. Es ist only a matter of time before - someone will want  
to make me do something. So they can laugh."  
"So we'll like, cover for ya. I mean the whole 'construction work'  
thing kinda like, works."  
He sighed. He really should have trusted his friends.  
  
Logan found his fresh scent. Unfortunately, it was the sulpherous  
residue of a 'port. Well, by the smell of things, the elf was back.  
Half-pint was with him, and something had changed in their relationship.  
He found them snuggled together in a window seat, just leaning against  
each other and watching the world go by.  
_Call off the search, Chuck. They're okay._  
{...ThhhhrrrrrRRRRUUUMMMMMmmmmmmmbllllllle...}  
_What the--?_ That was the same sound that had been mystifying the  
kids for about half a week. "What the hell *is* that noise?" he wondered  
aloud.  
"It's just Kurt," said Kitty, as if guys who purred were an everyday  
occurrence. "Deal."  
"Huh," announced Logan. So that was what the little squirrel had been  
uptight about, lately. It was just another item in the growing list of  
Kurt Things that were fast becoming background noise. "Don't think your  
new sound's gettin' ya off of anythin', Elf."  
Kurt grinned. "Jawohl."  
"*Told* you so," Kitty said.  
  
They fit together like two pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and it was a  
very *cozy* puzzle at that. It felt very right just to share time with  
each other, touching.  
"Kurt?"  
"Mmm?"  
"Dare you to like, howl at Logan during a training session."  
Kurt laughed. "All right, leibe, but you have to be there to phase me  
if he loses it."  
"Deal." Kitty laughed, too. "I just like, want to see the look on his  
face."  
"Evil leibe, *evil*..."  
"You gotta admit, having something like that is like, *totally* going  
to like, unnerve the opposition."  
"Ja. I can see that. Es ist the *allies* I worry about."  
"Don't. We love you."  
"Ich leibe dich, too." 


	13. Part the Thirteenth: Double Double

Part the Thirteenth: Double Double  
  
[AN: OOoooooo...thirteeennnn... All triskadecaphobiacs (that's 'people  
afraid of the number thirteen' to the plebs) can relax, this isn't a  
horror. All my horrors actually have *plots*. Not that I have very many  
horrors up my sleeve... There's a Kurt-angst fic and a romance that  
includes a vampire and that's about it. Yes, I do have a wierd mind,  
thankyou for noticing. So, instead of the usual Stephen King-esque stuph  
you'd expect here, I have the next-nearest thing as far as scary  
concepts go: Multiple Kurts. Think about it :) ]  
  
It happened so quick, at least to those watching. Spinning blades  
erupted and zinged towards an unaware head.  
"Jamie! Look out!" Kurt tackled him.  
{Bamf!}  
Then there was screaming, smoke and confusion, and a small crowd  
suddenly in the control centre of the Danger Room.  
For those concerned, it was a minor eternity. Kurt, when he woke up,  
said he could feel the strain of 'porting increase as the Jamie he held  
split into multiples. Then something happened as it got rough for the  
both of them, and Kurt swore he was tearing apart.  
Then one of the *other* five Kurts woke up and demanded to know what  
had happened.  
Hank was the one who summed it all up. "I fear we may be in for some  
interesting times..."  
  
To ease confusion, each of the Kurts now wore a number. It was  
strictly arbitary, they got numbered in the order that they achieved  
consciousness. There was no way to tell which was the original. The same  
problem was evident with the Jamies, but there were fifteen of *them*.  
"I ain't takin' the fall," Logan rumbled. "When they're in a random  
danger sim, I *mean* random. Kid shoulda kept his eyes open."  
"I was only trying to help," said Kurt Four. "He would have died if--"  
"--we didn't do something," finished Kurt Two.  
"Is there like, any way to stop them like, *doing* that? It's like,  
mega-annoying."  
"Sorry, Katzchen," said Kurt One.  
"We can't help it," said Kurt Five.  
"We're *identical*," said Kurt Three. "In every way."  
"Not even twins get this identical," sighed Kurt Four.  
"How the heck are we going to handle school?" they chorussed.  
"Could you guys like, *shut* *UP*?"  
Another chorus, "Sorry, Kitty."  
"Rrrr!"  
"Please," Xavier begged. "Try to keep calm. We'll just cope with this  
as if it were another random duplication."  
"Yeah," said one of the Jamies. "We pick a virus and 'develop  
symptoms' for the day."  
"...and then we do chores with *Wolverine*," muttered another.  
"Teaches ya to keep track of the original, don't it, Squirt?"  
"I think a reprieve is in order, this time," said Xavier. "There was  
no way we could have anticipated this result, and equally no way of  
discerning the original until the copies dissipate."  
All of the Kurts looked very frightened. "I... hadn't thought of  
that," they murmured.  
"It isn't a theological quandry," Hank soothed. "As far as we can  
tell, Jamie's duplicates come from alternate universes that haven't  
seperated from ours, yet. After a finite amount time, they just go  
back."  
"Hey! Maybe that's why our powers got crosswired," said a Jamie.  
"Nightcrawler goes into another dimension in order to 'port. Maybe his  
dimension and my dimensions got all mixed up."  
"Nein, there aren't fifteen of us," said Kurt Two.  
"The trouble started when there were three of you," said Kurt Five.  
"Ja. I couldn't take the brunt of the trip like always," added Kurt  
Three.  
All five of them held their ribs in the memory of the pain, and  
moaned.  
"That was when I hung on to you," said another Jamie, "'cause it  
*hurt*."  
A third Jamie added, "I didn't think. Sorry."  
"Professor! Now they're *both* doing it!"  
  
"Just where do you think *you're* going?"  
"I'm going to sit down."  
"That's *my* seat."  
"It's my seat, too."  
"Look, there's plenty of seats to go around. We can't *all* sit in  
this one."  
"Ja, but *this* one's next to Kitty..."  
Two of the Kurts were attempting to push each other out of their way.  
A third was hiding his face in shame while leaning on the chair in  
question. The fourth stepped between the two fighters while a fifth  
leaned in close to Kitty.  
"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I had *no* idea I was like this."  
"Get away from her, she's mine!"  
"She's not anyone's, dummkopf!"  
"Stop it, you're scaring her!"  
"Clappe!"  
"Get outta my chair!"  
"ELF!" Logan barked. "Settle it quietly or you're all eating at the  
kiddies table."  
All five Kurts looked at each other. "Rock, paper, scissors," they  
hissed, starting a match.  
Kitty shrunk in on herself. "This is like, totally embarressing," she  
muttered.  
"Ha! You're out."  
"Verdammt..." Five went off, muttering to himself all the way, to sit  
next to Amara.  
"Did *I* give you leave to sit next to me, peasant?"  
"Shut up or I'll give you Gypsy Germs."  
"Professor! Five's *breathing* on me!"  
"You want a shot at the kiddies table, too?"  
A chorus, "Sorry, Mr Logan."  
Then, whispered, "Stupid peasant."  
"Stuck-up snob."  
Kitty gently headbutted the table. "Shoot me now," she whimpered.  
"Ha!"  
"Verdammt..." Three slunk off to sit next to Rogue.  
"You do anythin' funny with that tail," she said, "an' I'll put it in  
a *sling* for ya."  
_I'm going to have to like, remember that one,_ thought Kitty.  
"Ew. *Rogue*... you're my *sister*. *Yu-uck*..."  
One lost a round and settled next to Logan with a nearly subliminal,  
"Rrrr..."  
"Sorry I'm not better company," Wolverine sarcasmed.  
"YES! I am Spartacus!" crowed Four.  
"You kiss her and you die," growled Two. "In fact, you *touch* her and  
you die."  
"Oh, just lose gracefully, fuzzball." Four plunked himself next to  
Kitty with a triumphant grin and a cheery, "Guten Abend, meine Dame."  
Two slumped into a seat next to Evan and growled under his breath.  
No matter *how* many Jamies there were, he was always easier to deal  
with. He just went along with whatever happened and never complained.  
Kurt, being a more - active - personality, was obviously going to get on  
people's nerves.  
"Stop grinning like that, Trottel."  
Including his own.  
"Es ist a free country. I can grin if I want to."  
"Elf..." rumbled Logan, thus putting an end to the hostilities.  
_Correction,_ thought Kitty. _Open hostilities._ She sure hoped the  
whole duplicate thing would be solved, soon. She didn't know how long  
she could take Kurt glaring at himself as if he wanted to commit murder.  
There was no *way* they could have a normal dinner, tonight.  
  
Kitty woke up to a room full of flower arrangements. She then decided  
to bury her head under her pillow until it all went away.  
"Oh... my... God..." said Rogue. "Hey, Kitty--"  
"Yes, I've seen it. I *know* who they're all from."  
"Guess we still got multiple Kurts," Rogue said, sniffing the flowers.  
"Is there any way you can like, hide me?" Kitty begged. "I don't want  
what happened at dinner to like, happen at breakfast."  
Their bedroom door burst open. "Hey guys, guess what?" Jubes demanded  
at the top of her lungs. "There's only one Jamie, this morning.  
Everything's back to--"  
{Bamf! Bamf! Bamf! Bamf! Bamf!}  
"Guten Morgen, Katzchen!"  
"--normal?"  
"Go away," Kitty moaned. One lovesick, hyperactive, blue fuzzball  
chasing after her was more than plenty, she decided. In fact, her  
preferred total of lovesick, hyperactive, blue fuzzballs was zero.  
Unfortunately, she was stuck with five.  
"Now look what you've done! You've upset her!"  
"*I've* upset her? *You're* the one sitting on her underwear drawer."  
"So you peeked, du Hurensohn! Die!"  
A fight broke out amongst the Kurts. The Marquis of Queensbury didn't  
even get a look-in.  
Kitty quietly phased through her bed, then the floor below it, in  
order to make good her escape. If she played her cards right, she might  
even get away from the Institute without seeing another Kurt.  
A distant sound of shattering china indicated that the vases were now  
being used as weaponry. There was going to be flowers and water all over  
her bedroom.  
"Ororo!" Kitty practically ran to help her out with the breakfast  
things. "I kinda like, need your advice. How do I get them to like,  
*stop*?"  
Ororo smiled. "Any *other* girl would be pleased to have five young  
men fighting over her attention."  
"Five *different* men, maybe," Kitty allowed. "But *they* are all the  
same guy! It was like, annoying enough when there was like, *one* of  
him." She slammed a cupboard door shut. "I just wish they'd like, *all*  
vanish!"  
"Oh..." said one of the Kurts. He'd been minding his own business, for  
a change, before their paths had crossed. He left without another word.  
Ororo sighed. "I get the distinct feeling that you may have to  
appologise for that, later," she said.  
"Why should I?" demanded Kitty. "They're like, a total pain in the  
*butt*..."  
  
"You're *sure*," said Five.  
"Her exact words," said Three. "She wants us all to vanish."  
One was picking up potsherds and wilted flowers. He'd gone silent ever  
since he'd heard the news.  
Four murmured, "Maybe it'll happen."  
Three said, "Maybe we're stuck like this. Forever."  
They all shuddered.  
"The least we could do is try to co-operate," said Two. "Maybe Kitty  
would be less annoyed if we stop fighting."  
As one Elf, they started picking up the mess they'd made.  
  
"Okay, if two of us sit either side of her at meals, that means we can  
cycle through, quicker. The *other* three get to sit opposite. Fair?"  
"Ja."  
"We can deal."  
"I think if we *combine* our efforts at peace offerings, she might be  
less upset," offered Four.  
"Good call!"  
"Maybe we could get Hank to help us with some poetry or something."  
The rest glared at Three.  
"What? Chicks *dig* poetry!"  
"Ja, but we suck at it."  
"Especially in English."  
"*Ja*... we wind up sounding like a hallmark card."  
"Okay. Forget the poetry. What else ist there?"  
"Schokolade!" Chorused three of him.  
"Ja ja ja, stupid question."  
"Maybe some jewelry? A nice bracelet?"  
"Ja! Sehr gut! Nothing says 'I'm sorry' und 'I love you, but you don't  
have to do anything' like a bracelet."  
"Ja, bracelets are the non-relationship body decoration of choice."  
"Four out of five fuzzy mutants agree!"  
They fell into laughter.  
  
Scott looked up at the noise that filtered through the ceiling. "Oh  
great," he muttered. "They're *planning* something."  
"That does it," announced Evan, "I'm hiding under the furniture."  
"This one's taken!" said Jamie, who was already lurking under the  
coffee table.  
  
When Kitty came back from the mall, there was a forest on her dresser.  
She was amazed that it was in one pot. Someone had gone the whole hog  
and, considering that Lance was like, broke all the time, it had to be  
Kurt.  
Like he could really bribe her after the fight, that morning.  
She read the card, just in case.  
"Oh good *grief*... Ew."  
It said, _Roses are red,  
These flowers are pretty,  
To help say 'I'm sorry',  
To mein leibchen Kitty._  
The obverse said, "Sorry about the poem, Three insisted. Look in your  
top dresser drawer. K."  
_Probably has spring snakes in it._ Kitty risked a peek. There were  
two boxes. The larger one had, "Open me first!" on a post-it note on its  
top.  
Kitty shrugged and obeyed. She had to blink thrice before it  
registered. Expensive. Top of the line. Untouched. Swiss. Chocolates. He  
must have like, had a hernia stopping himselves from eating them.  
The second box had a bracelet in it. One of those elegant fine chain  
things that looked like a rope made out of gold.  
"Okay," Kitty said to no-one in particular. "I think I can like,  
forgive him." She put on the bracelet. It looked like, totally nice.  
Her door opened, it was Amara, who was used to going anywhere she  
liked.  
"Ah, Kitten. I seem to have mislaid my hairbrush. May I borrow--"  
Amara stared at the bracelet. "Where did you get that?"  
"This?" Kitty shook it. "It's like, Kurt's appology for being five  
times the annoyance he like, usually is. Isn't it cool? It looks just  
like a little rope!"  
"That - *peasant* - obtained a piece of Faberge for you - and you say  
it looks like a little rope..." Amara hid her face behind one hand. "I'm  
surrounded by lowborn *fools*," she muttered.  
"I thought Faberge only did like, easter eggs..."  
Amara held up her finger. "Moment," she fled the scene, only to return  
a minute later with a largeish jewelry box. Kitty knew that it held some  
of her favourites. "*This* is the work of Faberge."  
Kitty looked at the treasure within. Her jaw dropped. "Like,  
OmyGod..."  
"It's not just jewelry," said Amara. "It's *art*."  
"I hear *that*."  
"Is he also responsible for the floral arrangement?"  
"Yeah," Kitty grumbled. "It's like, enormous. I can't see the mirror."  
"I bet he sent you Swiss chocolates as well."  
"How did you know?"  
"Just a wild guess," Amara said. "Who would have thought that the  
peasant had *taste*?" she mused. "Mayhap I judged him too early..."  
"Try one of the swirly things," Kitty offered. "I think they're like,  
slightly alcoholic."  
"Kitty Pryde, you are *such* an uncultured plebeian," Amara took one  
of the offered chocolates with a sigh, then left, muttering something  
about pigs and pearls.  
"Like, whatever."  
Five minutes later, Amara was fleeing for her life from a mob of angry  
Kurts. She must have dropped a *very* insulting phrase, but Kitty  
couldn't figure out what it was. Kurt like, had a comeback for  
everything Amara called him.  
The Kurts caught up with her down the hall, and a scuffle ensued.  
Kitty saw Amara for a third time, this time held fast by the Kurts.  
"Say it," said Three.  
Amara screwed up her face, "I'm-sorry-for-calling-you-an-uncultured-  
plebeian-and-a-filthy-hog," she seethed. Were it not for the Indoors  
rule about destructive powers, Kurt would have been roasted by now.  
"And-I'm-sorry-I-said-you-were-mentally-impoverished. Filthy peasant.  
I've said it. Can I go now?"  
Three, Two and Five conferred. "I suppose," allowed Two. "But don't  
let us catch you putting anyone else down again."  
"...muttermumblegrowlstupidpeasantgrumblesnarlgrizzle..." Amara  
stormed off.  
"Huh," said Four. "Money can buy you everything but manners." He  
leaned on the doorframe, and with a faint {pip} just vanished.  
"HA!" The remaining four crowed in unison. "It's not permanent! We're  
not *stuck* like this. Est ist wunderbar! Oh, Katzchen..."  
To an Elf, they mobbed her in a group fuzzy hug.  
Kitty just phased away. "Like, get off of me!"  
"Oh..." again, another Elf chorus. "Sorry, Kitty."  
Kitty sighed. There was practically a little raincloud following them  
on their way out. He'd gone from totally hyped to totally bummed in the  
space of a handful of seconds. _Maybe I should like, ask the Professor  
to scope him out for like, manic depression or something._  
  
"What's up with you lot?" said Scott as four of the Kurts trooped into  
the theatre.  
"Good news, bad news," said Five.  
"Good news," announced One, "The clones are starting to vanish."  
"Bad news," said Three, "I maxed out one of my credit cards and  
Katzchen still hates me."  
"*One* of your credit cards?" Scott raised an eyebrow. "How many have  
you got?"  
"Er. You know all that mail addressed to 'the occupant'?" said Two.  
"We sort of open it to see what's there," said Three.  
Scott sighed. "How many credit cards were you guys 'pre-approved'  
for?"  
"We've got about fifty..." Five managed a nervous giggle.  
"On the bright side, we stopped *you* guys getting into the same  
trouble, ja?" said One.  
"Professor's going to *love* this..." Scott sarcasmed.  
"We'll pay it off," said Three. "We know what work ist for."  
"Jacob laboured seven years for Rachel," sighed Five. "Why should  
anything be different now?"  
"Seven years?" scoffed Two, "We'll be lucky to survive *one*." {pip}  
He was gone.  
"And then there were three," said One. "Not that that makes much of a  
difference."  
"Ja. She'll hate us no matter what," sighed Five.  
Three started slouching towards the Professor's study, "Might as well  
start working now, while there's still many hands to make the work  
light. Ish."  
The other two trooped after him.  
  
"Professor..."  
"Basement seven. Clean it out and I'll clear your debt."  
"So... you know."  
"Yes," said the Professor. "After you're finished, we'll have a little  
talk about junk mail and unscrupulous card companies."  
"Jawohl, Herr Professor."  
"Understand that I only let it go this long because you were  
apparently responsible with them. Until today."  
"Jawohl, Herr Professor."  
"Next time, bake her cookies."  
"Jawohl, Herr Professor."  
Xavier watched them go, then he started towards the kitchen in order  
to warn Storm about a possible baking spree. Poor Kurt *did* tend to go  
overboard when he was trying to impress...  
  
Basement seven hadn't been that dirty to begin with. Most of the stuff  
in there was overflow from other basements and just needed to be  
resorted into the areas where they belonged. Therefore, the Kurts  
decided to give the Professor value for money and washed the walls and  
ceiling before they buffed the floor.  
By the time they were done, there were only two of him left.  
Three and Five.  
They slumped upstairs for a wash before they scoped out the kitchen  
for opposition.  
Ororo was already there. "Three batches, no more," she said. "You get  
to choose the flavour. I'll help ward off the predators."  
"The Professor warned you, ja?"  
"You got that right," Ororo smiled. "And after your *last* baking  
spree; which contained ten batches of assorted flavours and at least one  
fistfight, I think it's fair that you get supervision."  
"One flavour?"  
"*One* flavour."  
Three and Five spoke in unison, "Chocolate cookies with chocolate  
chips and chocolate icing!"  
Ororo groaned. "I should have guessed..."  
  
Something smelled nice.  
Kitty inhaled. _Strike that. Something smells like, divine... Mmmmm...  
Hot cookies..._ Hot *chocolate* cookies. Kitty increased her speed. If  
she dumped her stuff fast enough, she might be able to phase her way  
into grabbing one.  
The smell was coming from the vicinity of her room.  
_Oh great_  
Two of the Kurts were waiting for her. They had to be the sole  
survivors, because the others would definitely be hanging around for  
*this*.  
Each was smiling and holding a box. A deliciously *chocolate*-smelling  
box.  
"Your choice, fraulein," said Five, offering his box. "Icing--"  
"--or no icing," said Three. "Just in case you're on a diet."  
_I gotta *choose*?_ Kitty bit her lip. "Uh."  
"Or you can have both," they chorused.  
Kitty took the boxes in a blink and locked herself in her room. Only  
when she was halfway through each box did she remember that she hadn't  
said so much as a word to them. Not even a 'thanks'.  
_Oh well. I'll like, thank him like, later._  
  
Sigh. "So much for that."  
"I guess she'll never like me."  
{pip}  
Kurt sighed again, taking off the numeral that had defined his  
existance for the last forty-eight hours. _Would the real Kurt Wagner  
please stand - alone..._ He dropped the 3 on the floor by her door and  
sought out solitude.  
Not that that was too hard. Everyone in the Institute had had a little  
too much Kurt, recently, and they were avoiding him.  
She didn't say 'thanks'. She didn't even offer him a cookie - when she  
knew for a fact that the rest of his culinary efforts had been inhaled  
by the hordes below.  
He didn't even have a clone-'brother' to talk to.  
_Time to give everyone time,_ he thought. _They'll come looking when  
they want me. If they want me._  
Kurt crept away, unnoticed, into the night.  
  
"Great. When you don't want him, he's everywhere, but when you want  
him, he vanishes!"  
"Why don't you just -uh- find him?" Scott made a little 'mental power'  
gesture at his temple.  
"Do you have any idea what it's like to contact several *identical*  
people at once?" Jean demanded.  
"Yeah, but Kurt's been downsizing, lately. There's fewer of him  
around. It might be easier on you."  
"True, but the other four may be hiding."  
"Jean, I saw one of them pop out of reality. That's one less Kurt you  
have to deal with. Guaranteed."  
Jean sighed. "Fine. But I'm only doing a light scan."  
"What'd you want him for, anyway?"  
"Two words: More cookies."  
"Ohyeah. I'm all for that," Scott grinned.  
Jean closed her eyes. Then she frowned. "Odd," she said. "I can't pick  
him up. Any of him."  
  
Kitty hid the cookies in her bottom drawer before she answered the  
door. A few cookie crumbs were easily lost by some brushing at her top.  
"Like, what?"  
"We're looking for Kurt. Seen him?"  
"Jean... what's like, up with you guys?"  
"We want him to do more of those cookies," said Scott.  
"Yeah, two batches aren't enough," said Amara. "Besides, the peasant  
knows chocolate."  
Kitty thought guiltily about the whole batch's worth the two Kurts had  
given her. And the 'I love you's written in the icing. "I like, saw him  
earlier," she admitted. "He like, gave me some like, cookies as a way of  
like, appologising? There were like, two of him then."  
"Did you hear a little 'pip' sound at any time?"  
"Yeah. One." Then Kitty focussed on the discarded number. "But I  
wasn't like, listening too hard."  
Rahne whispered, "What if they *both* went 'pip'?"  
"Just because I can't find him," said Jean, "Doesn't mean he's not  
around. He could be excercising his mental shields. He could be  
meditating. I don't know."  
"I wouldn't worry," said Scott. "Kurt just finds places to hide for a  
while. He'll get lonely and come back."  
Rahne had been sniffing the floor in lupine form, and now she was back  
to her human self. "If ye ask me, he was feelin' fair lonely enough  
afore. He was smellin' plenty heartbroken when he were standin' here.  
No-one had wanted to spend any time wi' him."  
Kitty swallowed. All those icing 'I love you's turned into a big knot  
of guilt in her stomach. "Can you like, track him, Rahne?"  
"I can track 'im until he 'ports," she said, and went wolf again.  
  
It was a very circuitous route. Kurt had wandered all over the estate,  
looking in on various quiet little spots, finding them occupied, and  
wandering on. He never teleported. He rarely did when he was depressed.  
His path eventually lead them to an area of the estate that was just  
known as the Wild Wood. Nobody, as far as anyone knew, went in there  
except Logan. The kids had collectively only ever played Calvinball on  
the outskirts.  
Go too deep into the Wild Wood, they whispered, and you'd never come  
out again.  
Rahne insisted that there were only squirrels and the odd deer in  
there, judging by the scent-trails. But the others noticed that *she*  
never went in there either.  
"It's just a dumb forest, right?"  
"Only *Logan* goes in there," said Jamie. "Once you're out of sight of  
the buildings, you can get lost *forever*."  
"It's just *trees*," Evan insisted. "We play Calvinball in there."  
"Yeah, but like, not too *far* in there."  
"Kurt went in there," said Rahne.  
"Yeah," said Amara. "But - he's a peasant, right? Born and bred in the  
woods, yes? He practically comes home covered in squirrels every  
evening."  
"Yeah!" Jamie started hopping in place. "He practically tamed a real  
live deer! He even let me pet it. It's *so* cool..."  
"Yeah, but --" Bobby pointed in the woods. "--he never went in  
*there*, did he?"  
"I hope not," said Scott. "I warned him about the Wild Wood. I warned  
*everyone* about the Wild Wood."  
Jean rolled her eyes. "It's a *myth*. Honest. I made it up to scare  
Scott's pants off when we were younger. I didn't know I'd made such an  
impact..."  
"It was the graphic imagery," said Scott. "And the blackout. And the  
fact that *no-one* goes in there."  
"Except Logan," said Ray.  
"Yeah, but Logan's afraid of *nothing*," said Jubes.  
"...I had nightmares for *weeks*..." Scott added.  
"Way to give us *confidence*," muttered someone in the background.  
"Yeah. We're on our own out here."  
"And it's kinda dark."  
Amara's hand ignited. "I can partially fix *that*. Jubes? Can you do  
anything -er- long term?"  
Jubes was shaking in her shoes. "Amara? You -um- you kinda made the  
shadows more frightening...."  
"Tch... Oh, for pity's *sake*..." Jean stormed into the Wild Wood.  
"There's *nothing* to be afraid of."  
Rahne howled. Jean froze, then glared at the lupine member of the  
team.  
Everyone looked up. It was a full moon.  
"I'm still going!" Jean turned on her heel and headed straight into  
the woods. "With or without you."  
"Jean!" Scott raced in after her. "Wait!"  
The rest ran after Scott.  
  
{fooo.... POP!} Night turned into day.  
_Verdammt. That's the fifth one in as many minutes..._ Kurt sighed.  
_If I weren't so busy sulking, I'd have to ask Jubes what was up with  
the flares._ Well, at least he was honest with himself. It was a *nice*  
sulk. Time alone to churn over his thoughts, stare at the stars, argue  
with the Almighty over the general unfairness of life, and wonder what  
Kitty was doing.  
Though he was certain it had something to do with Lance.  
The flares blocked his view of the stars, so Kurt turned over and  
played with the grass. Plucking stalks, weaving them together, tearing  
them up, that sort of thing.  
{fooo.... POP!}  
They were getting closer. Or rather, they were coming from less far  
away. _Could it be--? They *want* me now?_  
No. It was more likely that the Professor had sent out a search party  
to bring him in for dinner. Not that he was too terribly famished. There  
were some nice apple trees in here, near his favourite perching rock,  
and for once, they were in season.  
{fooo.... POP!}  
"There he is!"  
"He's okay!"  
"Kurt!"  
Kurt looked up. Thirteen young mutants were mobbing him, faces  
smiling, voices jubilant, arms wide. They caught him up in a joyous hug  
and a rush of babbling explanations.  
"...so scared for you..."  
"...thought you'd vanished with the rest of the clones..."  
"...even Jean was scared of the dark in *here*..."  
"...never had to make so many flares in my *life*..."  
"...don't you *ever* leave again! Never, you hear me, you fuzzy..."  
"...should have known you'd be going Davy Crocket on us..."  
Kurt lapped it up. He was *wanted*. Even Kitty was there, holding his  
hand, appologising for her behaviour and thanking him for the cookies.  
So many friendly touches. Such welcome company, after so long with just  
his own.  
They wound down, sitting on Kurt's rock, and laughing amongst  
themselves.  
"Were you *scared*?" asked Jamie. "I mean *nobody* goes into the Wild  
Wood."  
Kurt laughed. "Ja. I know. That's why I had to go into it and see  
why."  
They all stared at him.  
"What did you find?"  
"Squirrels. Deer. Some very nice wild apples. This little place. Es  
ist quite nice."  
They still stared at him.  
"What?"  
"This place," Scott announced, "has been *the* most frightening spot  
of the estate for *five* *years* and you just waltz around like it's  
nothing."  
"You could have got lost *forever*," said Jamie.  
Kurt snorted. "*Me*? Get lost? I never get lost."  
"That's not like, what you said when I like, caught you in my *room*,"  
said Kitty.  
"When was *this*?" asked Jean.  
"Couple of days after I arrived."  
Kurt grinned. "I was -er- trying not to get caught, you see. I'm - the  
one that put those 'welcome' gifts in your drawers..."  
Scott and Jean sighed and looked heavenwards.  
"That was like *you*? I thought they were from like, Scott."  
"Ha," said Jean. "As I recall, *my* 'welcome' gift was a live lizard  
in my undies drawer."  
"It took all day to catch!" Scott defended. "I thought it was  
pretty..."  
"It was *poisonous*."  
"*I* didn't know that..."  
"Mental image alert," muttered Jubes. "Block all ears and run like  
heck..."  
"Uh..." said Roberto. "Which way?"  
Silence fell. A very worried silence. They were still in the middle of  
the Wild Wood. In the dark. At night.  
Kurt clucked at them. "Tch! *Stadtvolker*... This way." He lead them  
along, Kitty holding tight to his hand. Not that he didn't *like* this  
latest development, but -- "You're not *scared*, are you, Katzchen?"  
"Uh. A little," Kitty giggled. "But you're like, not scared, so I  
guess I can be like, brave."  
"Any fool can be not scared, liebe. It takes courage to face what you  
fear. You've already *been* brave."  
Kitty giggled again, heat warming her cheeks. "Like, I *knew* there  
was another reason we were like, looking for you."  
"Ja? What was the first one?"  
The rest of the team, who'd been listening, decided to take their  
turn.  
"*COOKIES*!" they roared.  
  
Ororo looked at the assembled multitude. The multitude looked back.  
"It's like this," Jean announced.  
"Kurt cooked cookies," said Jubes.  
"*Nice* cookies," added Rogue.  
"Addictive cookies," said Evan.  
"We want more," said Amara.  
"Lots more," added Jamie.  
Ororo glared at them. They held their ground. Clearly, they meant  
business and, after sneaking one hot off the tray while the elves hadn't  
been looking, she had to admit they had a point.  
"After dinner," she said.  
And there was much rejoicing.  
  
"Ooooooohhhhh..." groaned Ray. He was sprawled across the floor, as  
were several other students. "I ate too much."  
"I'd do it again in a second," said Roberto. "But, ooooooohhhh..."  
"My tummy hurts," whimpered Jamie.  
Amara groaned. "I ate too many iced ones. *Far* too many iced ones."  
"But they were *so* *good*..." Sam moaned.  
"Talk about 'binge'," Jubes sighed. "If anyone even *thinks* chocolate  
at me, I'm gonna hurl."  
"No you wouldn't," said Rahne. "'Tis a waste of the good stuff."  
"Amen." Bobby grunted. "Think I ate a whole batch by myself..."  
  
She stared at the 'I love you' in icing on the cookie. "Well," she  
said, "I guess it's better than a lizard."  
"I thought I already appologised for that," said Scott. "In spades."  
"I remember," Jean laughed. "Did you get Kurt to ice this specially?"  
"Well... yeah. I figured I don't have that much to lose, right?"  
Jean took a bite. "Duncan was *never* this sweet to me."  
"So is that an, 'I'll never blow you off again'?"  
"It's an, 'I'll try to *remember* that you're my friend, too'," she  
allowed. "And I'll see about Duncan and I."  
"But he's a *jerk*."  
"Not to me," said Jean.  
Scott sighed.  
"It's going to be okay," she soothed. "You'll find someone someday."  
Scott watched her go. _I already did,_ he thought. _Pity she has her  
eyes elsewhere... I can wait._  
  
Kurt was busily scraping icing sugar out of his fingernails. Verdammt  
stuff wasn't only pernicious, but it set harder than concrete.  
"Kurt?"  
It was Kitty. He always had time for Kitty. "Jawohl, meine Dame?"  
She held up a cookie. "I like, saved you one. Thanks for like, making  
them and like, everything." She was wearing the bracelet he'd got her.  
Kurt took the offering. It's iced face said, "I love you." He stared  
at her. She was blushing. He stared at the cookie, then back at  
Katzchen. "Do you - mean this?"  
"Um. Yeah." She giggled and blushed a lot more.  
"Oh, Katzchen!" And he was hugging her with every ounce of exhuberance  
in his body, and eating the cookie. "Ich liebe Sie auch, mit meinem  
ganzem Inneren..." He nuzzled her neck.  
Kitty giggled all the harder. "Kurt, you're like, tickling me."  
"Want me to stop?" He offered her a bite of the cookie.  
"*No*..." she accepted the treat. "Just like, telling you."  
"Wunderbar. Wunderbar..." he sighed, and went back to his previous  
distraction.  
He'd have to thank Jamie later. And the Professor. And Ororo. And -  
well - everyone.  
Maybe another set of cookies. 


	14. Part the Fourteenth: ScapeElf

Part the Fourteenth: ScapeElf  
  
[AN: Yet another angstfic, but this time, it's heavy on the hurt/comfort  
angle :) Sorry I took so long with this. A big multi-part AngstFic  
crossed my path...]  
  
"Jamie! I need you for a second..."  
Jamie peeked back into the kitchen, and slunk around the doorframe,  
staring with bugged eyes and an open mouth at what Kurt was doing.  
He was juggling. With Ms Munroe's favourite china. All forty pieces of  
it.  
"Kurt," Jamie whispered, so as not to alert anyone. "That's  
*dangerous*..."  
"There was a tremour," said Kurt, "They all fell off the display and I  
couldn't catch all of them at once, so I had to juggle them, and I can  
only stop doing forty with *help*... I've been going for *hours*... mein  
arms are *tired*."  
"But *I* can't--"  
"All you have to do is catch them as they come down," said Kurt,  
almost begging. "Don't worry about me coping. Just take your time, be  
careful, and catch them."  
"But--"  
"*Please*... I don't know how much longer I can do this..."  
Jamie bit his lip. "Okay..." He *really* wished that the Professor  
hadn't gone away for a fortnight. Or that Jean wasn't out on a date with  
her jerk of a boyfriend. Or that half the mansion wasn't avoiding him.  
He sighed and bought a chair over to stand on, and focussed intently on  
the flying pieces of china.  
One by one, he caught the pieces, and one by one, he placed them  
carefully down on the table. They could put them back in the display  
racks, after. Jamie just did as he was told, until they were done.  
Kurt collapsed into a different chair with a sigh and a,  
"Schliesslich..."  
Jamie, still perched on the chair, surveyed their work. "We did it,"  
he crowed, jumping up and down. "We did it! We did it!"  
"Jamie, no! Don't--"  
Jamie lost his footing. "Whoah..." There was a terrifying moment when  
he hung suspended in midair, not quite off the chair, not quite on it.  
Kurt tried to get up, but he was too tired and too slow.  
All fall down.  
The next thing he knew, there were four of him, upturned furniture and  
broken china everywhere, and a very *irate* Ms Munroe in the kitchen  
doorway.  
"I'm sorry," he said, in unison with the other three clones.  
"No," said Kurt, holding up a tridactyl hand to stop them. "It was my  
fault, Frau'. I should have been more careful. I know this little place  
that can repair the damage. They'll be as good as new. I can pay for it  
- eventually..."  
Jamie and his clones guiltily began to gather the scattered shards.  
"We can help," he offered.  
"No, you go out and have fun. Just because you were here doesn't mean  
you have to pick up my mess," said Kurt. "Go on. Shoo."  
  
"He didn't."  
"He *did*," said Jamie. "What I don't get is *why* he did it."  
"Who cares why," said Ray. "The fuzzball wants to take the blame, let  
him. You got out of punishment, and it was just an accident anyway. What  
does it matter who cleans it up?"  
"But--"  
"It occurs to me," said Amara, "that the peasant may have sacrificed  
himself for acceptance amongst us."  
"Yeah," said Roberto. "We *do* kinda give him a wide berth."  
"So does *everyone*," said Bobby.  
"He's not exactly easy to look on," said Rahne. "From what I hear, he  
scared the stuffin' out of everyone that's ever come here."  
"*I* still think he's cool," said Jamie. "He lets me do stuff."  
"Once again, the child has isolated why the peasant is such a fool,"  
said Amara.  
"I still say we can use this to our advantage," said Ray.  
"The Professor's out, right?" said Sam. "He's gone for two whole  
weeks. That's two weeks with our word against his. Don't strike me as  
right, somehow."  
"Jean *is* plenty distracted," said Jubes. "She's hardly ever here."  
"And it *is* kind of unfair how everyone blames *us* all the time,"  
speculated Roberto.  
"Long as we play it safe, no-one'll be any the wiser..."  
  
Kurt sighed as he tipped the last of the dust in the dumpster.  
"Havin' fun, Elf?" asked Logan.  
"Maybe after a little rest," said Kurt. He was tired and hungry and he  
was missing lunch. He was also heavily missing company, which was why he  
was so eager for something to do, just yesterday.  
"Ain't what I hear. Heard you were just up to some fun in one of the  
girls' rooms."  
Kurt groaned. Someone, somewhere, was glad he was around to blame. "I  
just finished getting the dirt out of all the basements," he said.  
"There's no more laundry. Everything is *clean*. Even the danger room."  
"That's why I figured it's gotta be somethin' you ate," said Logan.  
"Ya got too much energy to waste, so I'm puttin' you on a diet."  
Kurt could hear the prison bars clang shut. No chance to defend  
himself. And 'whining', he knew, would simply land him more punishment  
time.  
He did say, very calm, very quiet, "You know about my high metabolism,  
ja? You *know* I need to eat."  
"That's what you say. *I* say you could have somethin' different."  
Kurt sighed. There was no arguing with Wolverine. "What are we going  
to do?" he asked, his voice dead.  
"We're going to be watchin' every calorie that goes in and out. You're  
eatin' standard servings from now on."  
He nodded. Logan wouldn't let him do anything else. "Can I have lunch,  
now?"  
"From what I heard, you already *had* lunch."  
That was a 'no'. Kurt stifled another groan.  
"And now, you're comin' with me to work it off. Keep up, and I might  
let ya have a snack."  
  
He'd kept up. Nothing like the promise of food to motivate him. He was  
shaking as he fell into the chair at the kitchen table. Take heart. Food  
was coming. Logan wouldn't let him fix it, himself, but food was coming.  
"Mangia," Logan slammed the plate down in front of him.  
Kurt stared at it. Rice cakes. With a leaf of lettuce and a slice of  
pemento loaf on them. There were three of them.  
"If you don't want 'em, I can throw 'em out," Logan offered. "Then  
you'll have nothing until dinner."  
Kurt siezed the plate. Anything was better than nothing. He wolfed  
down the first one in four bites.  
"Small bites," Logan said, "Or I take it away anyway."  
His body was demanding he *eat*, fill his stomach as quickly as  
possible. His personal fuel-gage was nearing 'empty'. Kurt forced his  
body to shut the hell up. He took small bites, and chewed thoroughly. It  
didn't do a damn thing to make him feel full.  
_Some lunch._ It was barely a snack, according to his standards. A  
Jumbo MegaFeast at Gut Bomb was what he considered a *snack*.  
"Elf..."  
Kurt blinked. He was in the middle of licking the plate. He hadn't  
even known he was doing it. He put the plate down. "Sorry," he said.  
"I'm *hungry*."  
"Good," said Logan. "Then maybe you'll remember to play nice from now  
on. You're confined to quarters. Go."  
Moaning under his breath, Kurt went. He'd just shut his door when he  
heard, "STUPID *PEASANT*!"  
Kurt moaned and fell to the floor. He was *doomed*.  
His little plan to get people to like him was backfiring.  
Major league.  
  
{*peeeep*} "You have reached the Xavier Institute for Gifted  
Youngsters. None of the tutors are able to reach the 'phone, right now,  
but if you leave your name and number..."  
Xavier sighed and mouthed along with his own words. Everyone was too  
busy to take the call. And it was late.  
{*peeeep*}  
"Hello. Just thought I'd let you know that decorum has collapsed and  
the board has dissolved into points of order. I'm coming home on the  
next available flight." He sighed. "Maybe *next* year, we can actually  
make some *progress* towards mutant rights. I'll call you when I'm at  
the airport. See you soon."  
  
Breakfast soon. Breakfast soon. All he had to do was complete the  
circuit Logan had mapped out - on two legs, not all fours - and he could  
have breakfast. He could *eat*.  
Mmmm. Food.  
{SNAP!}  
Kurt screamed and teleported before he could even think. Momentum  
landed him into a tree, and biological debt almost made him black out.  
There was a metal trap on his left hock. The teleport, even though it  
was a short one, had sheared the chain, thus preventing him breaking the  
leg in the fall.  
He had no choice. He had a job to do. Complete the circuit or no food.  
Considering the circumstances, Logan was bound to let him do so on three  
limbs.  
Kurt tore up his jacket, binding the wound, binding the trap to the  
wound, the trap to the leg, and the leg to the trap. Best not to  
aggravate anything until he could get to the infirmary. Maybe Logan  
would even let him get to the infirmary first. He definitely would.  
Wouldn't want anyone hurt.  
But he *had* to have breakfast. So he *had* to complete the circuit.  
His holowatch made it look as if the trap was halfway through his  
shoe. He left the illusion on. No-one wanted to see what a starving elf  
looked like. It was tremendously unappealing.  
Kurt resumed the circuit. Limping along on three limbs, hoping and  
praying that no-one saw him.  
  
Ororo could hear Kurt's laboured breathing before she saw him. She  
half expected him to come staggering through the back door, the access  
to the outside. Which was why it was such a surprise to finally spot him  
coming in through one of the inside doors.  
He pulled himself up into a chair and stared at the empty table. "I  
missed breakfast," he said, sounding hopeless.  
Ororo knew all about his continued hijinks, and Logan's attempts to  
get them to stop. "He gave you plenty of time," she said. "He sat there,  
after everyone had left, drinking coffee for about an hour and a half.  
What happened to you?" She indicated his missing jacket.  
"Uh. You could say I hit a little snag. I don't suppose I could beg  
you for a leftover sandwich? I *need* food..."  
"Sorry. There aren't any leftovers."  
Kurt whimpered and hit the tabletop with his head.  
The 'phone rang. Ororo went to get it. It was the Professor, back  
early, and completely surprised that no-one had *touched* the answering  
machine.  
Ororo peeked in on Kurt. He'd fallen asleep at the table. She'd have  
to tell Logan to ease up on the boy. He was clearly suffering.  
"Sorry, Professor," she turned her back on Kurt. "Things have been a  
little more than hectic around here. While the cat's away, and all  
that... I'll be there as soon as I can."  
She scribbled a note to Logan and pinned it to the 'fridge, then  
snatched up the keys to the rolls, grabbed her purse, and headed out.  
  
Logan growled. He should have *known* he'd find the kid in the pantry.  
He should have guessed the Elf couldn't be trusted to stick to the diet  
they'd agreed on.  
Elf was scraping the bottom of a jar of peanut butter, then sucking on  
the spoon.  
"*ELF*!"  
"Sknx?" His eyes fluttered open. He looked stunned. Afraid. He looked  
at the jar, at Logan, and back at the jar. He started to  
hyperventillate. Logan knew the look in those eyes. They were eyes  
staring down the abyss into madness.  
He could have sworn he saw the kid snap. In one blink, sanity had gone  
on a holiday.  
"D'ARGH!" Kurt threw the bottle and the spoon at Logan.  
The bottle smashed in his face, regardless of his adamantium claw  
guard. The spoon was neatly sliced in twain.  
The Elf galloped out in the confusion, while Logan extracted glass  
from his face.  
_Gotta give him enginuity points..._  
  
Run run run run run run run run run run run run...  
Gotta find a place to hide. Make the bad man give up. Then get food.  
Mmmmm... food.  
So hungry.  
There! There was a place to interrupt the scent trail.  
Duckpond.  
Leap in, grab a hollow reed. Use it like a snorkel.  
Find centre. Slow self down.  
Slow.  
Down.  
His eyes shut in the murky water, and he watched the world through his  
slowed down night senses. Logan's unique light approached, apparently on  
fast-forward. Exactly on his trail. He stopped at the water's edge.  
Kurt could see him, in his mind's eye, sniffing and peering at the  
dark water. He rose, eventually, and searched around the pond's edge.  
Thrice. On one circuit, he went around on all fours.  
Eventually, Logan left.  
Kurt waited another hour before he let himself surface. He didn't  
bother looking for a place where he could get clean. Clean could wait.  
He had to get *fed*.  
Hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry...  
At least he didn't have to run any more.  
There was food near here. Nuts and berries and apple trees.  
Kurt stuffed his face as quickly as he could. Chewing everything he  
put in his mouth. The nuts were bordering on stale. The berries were  
sort of green.  
The apples, when he looked up the little crab-apple trees, were green  
and as hard as rocks. They'd make him sick. He couldn't be that hungry.  
His body wouldn't *demand* he eat sickeningly green crab-apples. He  
wouldn't even be able to throw up. His body wouldn't let him throw up  
bad food on an otherwise empty stomach.  
Kurt looked at his hand. He was eating a green crab-apple with half a  
worm in it. Apparently, his body *was* that desperate for food.  
At which point, Kurt's body turned off the part of his brain that was  
busy being Kurt and making objections.  
Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat...  
  
"Hank?"  
"Hm?" Hank looked up from his formula. He'd been working on it every  
free moment. "Something you desire?"  
"Elf's run off. Need you to help hunt him down. Get Red on to it if  
you can. I'd get 'Ro in to do a sky search, but she'd done a runner,  
too."  
"And what misdeed has Mister Wagner perpetrated *this* time?"  
"Gave me the run-around before breakfast. I tell ya, Poindexter, I  
*hate* holidays. Prof's got the right idea by buggin' out for the  
duration.  
"You get Red. I'll get Smokey. We *need* flyers to find the Elf. Kid's  
got rat-bastard cunning coming out of his ears."  
"Was that a compliment or an insult?"  
"I'll let ya know the second we finally track 'im down."  
"Oh, *marvy*," Hank sarcasmed.  
  
Jean focussed on finding Kurt. What she found horrified her.  
_HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (hurt) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (burns)  
HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (sick) HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY (scared)_  
She turned off as fast as she could, and still wept uncontrollably for  
a minute or so. "Logan. He can't go. He'll make Kurt run. Kurt can't  
afford to run. Oh, God... I let this happen. I should have been here for  
him..."  
She flashed Hank a mental image of where Kurt was before concentrating  
on Logan.  
_You want me to *what*?_  
_Stay out of it. You've terrified him into doing this. I chose Hank to  
go get him. He might trust Hank._  
_Might? Red, what are you on?_  
_It's not what I'm on, it's what he's in. You've reduced him to a knot  
of instincts, Logan. You did too much._  
Logan's mind growled. _Kid didn't say nothin' against it._  
_Did you let him?_  
_Uh..._  
Just what she thought. _Stay out of sight, okay? We have to tread  
carefully._  
  
Someone coming. Sore. It burns. Move. Can't. Too sick.  
Gotta move. Gotta hide. Can't let them find me. Want the hurt to stop.  
So hungry. No food.  
Leg hurts. Wrist hurts. Stomach hurts.  
Hungry.  
Gotta hide. There. Leaves. Hide. Save skin. *Then* worry about clean.  
Filthy.  
Hide. Bury under the leaves. Stay still.  
Wrist-hurt burns, now, just like leg.  
Why is there light? Smells bad. Smoke.  
Am I in Winzeldorf again? Did they catch me?  
So tired.  
Sleep a little and stay still.  
Yes.  
  
Hank could see the fire, just beginning to start. According to Jean,  
the fire was where Kurt was. He dug into the leaves, putting out the  
smouldering little flame that had started from a short in his  
malfunctioning holowatch. Kurt was slumbering.  
Hank touched his shoulder, trying to rouse him.  
"D'AAAAAARGH!" Kurt lashed out blindly, days of neglect had let his  
nails lengthen and sharpen into something resembling talons, and he had  
ten of them to rake at an unsuspecting attacker.  
Hank ignored the shallow slashes in his person and picked the boy up.  
"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. Logan isn't here. We're not  
backing him up any more. Do you understand me?"  
Kurt slowed down in mid-slash. He stared at Hank as if trying to solve  
something. "...hungry..." he whispered.  
"I know," Hank soothed. "I'll take you home, and we can get something  
for you to eat."  
  
Kurt drank the first bowl of Mama Wagner's Straight-up Calorie Soup  
like it was water. He did the same to the second through the fifth. He  
never said a word.  
He looked awful.  
Hank could count his ribs, and they were outlined starkly with blue  
fur that had lost all trace of its body and shine. Haunted eyes looked  
like they'd been blacked, and they'd lost all their luminosity. He was  
covered in duckweed, algae and moldering leaf parts. A shocking  
disparity from the Kurt who routinely spent an hour and a half getting  
clean every morning.  
He'd refused to clean up, demanding food, even fighting with all the  
remaining strength he had. Not that that was very much.  
Hank fought to maintain control. Logan was *not* his favourite person,  
right now, and if he turned up within Hank's range, he'd get more than a  
lecture on paying attention to body language.  
Kurt finally started drowsing over his tenth bowlful of Calorie Soup.  
Hank picked him up and carted him off to the infirmary for a bath, a  
thorough check-up and an investigation of the wound under the grungy  
bandages of his left hock.  
"Stay awake for me, will you?" Hank asked as he carried his charge  
towards the infirmary. "Recite something. Anything."  
Kurt began mumbling something in Romani.  
  
Jamie Madrox could feel the blood drain out of his face as Kurt passed  
by, held in the crook of Mr McCoy's arm. He *knew* the guys had gone too  
far. He'd tried to warn them, but nobody *ever* listened to the baby of  
the group.  
There were times when he *hated* being twelve.  
He started running. They were going to *listen*. Even if he had to  
start screaming into their ears.  
He found the guys in a human pyramid, trying to replace a china  
statuette in it's nook near the ceiling. This was exactly the sort of  
thing that had been going on for days. And every time it went wrong,  
there was a sudden flurry of movement and blame thoroughly laid on Kurt.  
Jamie was sick of it. So far, he'd kept quiet, but not this time.  
"If you break that," he said, "I'm telling."  
Amara leaned forward and gently placed the statue back in its niche.  
She pulled her tongue back into her mouth as she slid it back into its  
rightful place. "As if *you'd* be believed above the rest of us," she  
said.  
"Kurt's going to hospital right *now*," said Jamie. "He looks like  
he's dying."  
The human pyramid fell, but thankfully, the statue didn't.  
"Ye woh?" said Rahne.  
"That ain't right," said Sam. "He looked fine before breakfast."  
"He was wearing his hologram. It *always* looks the same. He's been  
hiding behind it," Jamie felt sick. "We've all been using him and now  
he's all hurt."  
"That goes with what *I* heard," said Jubes, primary source of  
information for the entire high school. "Jean was chewing out Logan, and  
she said he'd driven Kurt *insane*..."  
"Whoah," said Ray. "Cool!"  
"It is *not* cool!" Jamie shouted. "It's not a story! It's really  
real! He's really sick, and it's really our fault 'cause we kept blaming  
him, and I'm *TELLING*!"  
Everyone had gone quiet and pale.  
Jamie folded his arms and, despite how he was feeling, smirked. *That*  
was telling them.  
"Ain't no need, Squirt," said Logan, who was right behind him. "I've  
been listening."  
  
He just wanted to *sleep*, but Herr McCoy wouldn't let him. There was  
no escaping Big Blue. Funny joke, that. Tabby had come up with it,  
after she left, and it'd stuck. Hank was Big Blue, Kurt was Little  
Blue. Okay. Half of it stuck. After about a month's worth of objections  
that he wasn't that little.  
No-one had protested that Hank wasn't big. So Big Blue he remained.  
"Keep talking to me, Kurt," Hank persisted. "Just keep talking. I need  
you awake."  
Kurt groaned. "Tired," he said. "Hurts."  
"I know, but we're clean, now, right? Let's give that wound of yours  
some proper attention, hm? I got Evan to fetch some clean clothing for  
you." He indicated the pile.  
Well, that explained the apparently colourblind selection made by  
whatever was lying closest to hand. What had *posessed* him to buy an  
orange shirt?  
Ohyeah... Kitty had said it looked nice.  
"Kurt?" Hank prompted.  
Kurt obediently lurched towards the clothes. Why should he care what  
he looked like? Nobody spent more than a handful of minutes ever looking  
at him, anyway.  
"Okay, good." Hank readied a surgical tray. "Let's look at that wound,  
shall we?"  
"Why *do* doctors have to talk in plurals, anyway?" Kurt wondered. "Is  
it some kind of disassociative thing or what?" It was the most he'd said  
since he'd spoken to Ororo.  
"It's supposed to make us look friendly and sound open," Hank drawled.  
"Although I must admit, I've always felt a little demented saying it..."  
"Ha!"  
Kurt offered his leg. He hadn't looked at it since he'd pried the trap  
off of it, how many hours ago? He rarely looked at himself. He didn't  
really need any reminders that he was so vastly different from anyone  
else.  
Hank's face told the whole story. It didn't look good. "What  
*happened*?"  
Kurt pointed at the refuse bin, to where he'd dumped the steel trap.  
While Hank looked, Kurt focussed on not passing out. It was hard. The  
fire in his hock was threatening to spread up his calf.  
"And you didn't summon help?"  
He shook his head. Then he mimicked Wolverine. "Only help you get from  
now on is yourself, elf. Whinin' gets you extra demerits. *Fixin'* the  
problem's the only thing that's gonna work."  
Hank sighed. "I am going to have to have a *long* talk with him...  
When did he say this to you?"  
Kurt shrugged. "Lost track of time." He watched, detatched, as a  
needle went into the leg, but he sighed as the fire died down.  
"Stay awake," Hank cautioned. "Recite something else."  
Kurt focussed his Chi. He didn't like talking when he was hurt, but he  
could repeat like a champion. "[Once, long ago, in the beginning of  
things...]" he began. It didn't matter that he was reciting a Romani  
legend to someone who didn't understand a word of it. What mattered was  
that he was doing what They currently wanted.  
If that meant telling stories, he'd tell stories until his tongue fell  
out.  
He told three stories before Hank started wrapping his leg again.  
There'd been a lot of needles and stitching and washing, but at least it  
was over. Until the next trial.  
"Sleep?" he asked. "Please?"  
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now."  
Ah, good. Done for the day.  
  
"Yes, I think we can let you sleep, now." Hank tidied away the  
equipment he'd been using to clean and fix Kurt's wound. The boy was  
lucky he hadn't broken any bones. "Though I'd prefer it if you could  
wait until we got you somewhere --" he turned back to realise he'd lost  
his audience. Kurt was fast asleep. "--warm."  
Hank sighed and retrieved a pre-warmed blanket to wrap him in until he  
got the kid somewhere more comfortable. Kurt and hospitals - even the  
Institute's in-house hospital - didn't mix too terribly well. They made  
him panic.  
Considering the extremes he was willing to go to, at the moment, panic  
was a very bad thing.  
He passed the new recruits on the way to Kurt's bedchamber, and was  
slightly disturbed to hear them fall to murmuring after he passed.  
Even though he was fast asleep, Kurt clung tight to the heated  
blanket. Hank let him, and simply added layers of bedclothes on top  
until there was only a hint of blue hair poking out from underneath the  
comforter.  
Then he sat down to read. Kurt was still in the danger zone. He'd need  
immediate attention when he woke, but sleep was the healer he needed  
most, right now.  
{tap tap tap}  
Only one person in the Institute could knock like that. "Yes, Jamie?"  
He poked his head around the door. "Mr Logan said we should listen to  
what you gotta say. Can we come in?"  
Hank got a glimpse of the rest of the new recruits lurking in the  
background. Most looked contrite. The rest were covertly fuming. "You  
must understand that Kurt needs *rest*, right now. One loud disturbance  
and you're all out."  
The new recruits filed in, sticking close to a blank wall. Hank also  
spied Logan hanging around in the hall. He was going to listen, too, but  
he wasn't going to run the risk of causing another disruption.  
Hank began his lecture, speaking in nothing more than a murmur, but he  
had everyone's rapt attention.  
"To begin with, mister Wagner has a high metabolism, meaning that he  
requires more energy to get through the day than a more ordinary person.  
Fortunately, his body is rigged to wring every last calorie out of  
anything he consumes. He needs it. Teleportation, no matter what the  
method, requires vast amounts of energy to perform. At this point, I'm  
assuming that he hasn't been able to do so for at least a few days."  
Logan rumbled a growl from his position out in the hall, and the  
students cringed.  
"Thus, what *we* consider average calorie consumption, is something of  
a starvation diet for mister Wagner. From his general poor condition,  
I'd also have to guess that he's been missing a few meals."  
"My fault," said Logan. "Kids said he was stealin' food. I believed  
'em."  
"Kurt's body would have begun consuming its own muscle on the third  
day," Hank continued, watching the number of heads hung in shame  
increase. "Which also accounts for the massive strain injuries I found,  
since he was also being over-worked."  
"Elf never complained," said Logan. "On the second day, he stopped  
talkin' altogether."  
"Yet he was downright chatty whenever *you* encountered him, right?"  
Hank asked the new recruits. "Hurling insults? Making bad jokes? Singing  
off key?"  
There was a generic mumble of appologetic noises.  
"That was the damage already done so far this week. This *morning*,  
whilst attempting to run a three mile course before breakfast, mister  
Wagner found a steel-jawed trap with his left foot."  
Every listener winced.  
"He was fortunate, in that it didn't break any of his bones. However,  
the shock of the trap's initial injuries made him instinctively  
teleport, thus reducing whatever bodily reserves he had left to almost  
nil. Nevertheless, he *still* insisted on completing the course as  
outlined by Logan. He patched himself together at the topical level  
only, before seeking food. Which, I believe, he was refused under  
Logan's instructions.  
"He lost consciousness, but his body's demand for food could not be so  
easily silenced. His *subconscious* worked to obtain the nutrition he  
was clearly missing. In short, he was sleep-snacking."  
In any other situation, they would have giggled, but this was someone  
they knew.  
"That, of course, was the worst time for Logan to enforce his Law.  
Kurt, stretched beyond his means, just snapped. The places where he  
sought to hide from Logan - the duck pond and under a pile of leaves,  
merely ensured that his wound became infected.  
"Kurt's metabolism helped the infection progress at a faster rate. I  
had to douse the wound with antibiotics several times, before I could  
stitch his wounds closed. There was an average of thirty stitches per  
puncture wound, and he had five punctures in his leg. Now, his battle is  
with shock, starvation, some spoiled food, *and* the infection. He needs  
to be watched for a while."  
The silence was only broken by the sounds of someone sniffling.  
Jamie's face was red with emotion.  
"...'s all my fault," the kid whimpered. "I shouldn'a told..."  
"Ah, *this* is where everyone is," said Xavier's voice from out in the  
hall. "Logan?" The door opened in full, revealing the Professor and  
Ororo. "Oh dear," he said upon taking in the scene. "What's Kurt done to  
himself, now?"  
  
"How long do I have to sit here and *watch* him?"  
"As long as it takes," Hank didn't even look up from his book. "Now if  
you *must* speak, speak *quietly*. He needs his rest."  
"I am a Princess of the Crown Royal," she hissed. "I should *not* be  
forced to *sit* and watch a *peasant* sleep."  
"Ah. So you'd rather sign up for Logan's excercise regime?"  
Amara bit her lip. "Er. No. On second thought, may I study while we  
wait?"  
"As long as you study a textbook, and not Leonardo DeCaprio."  
"It's Enrique Basilica," she said, blush tinting her cheeks.  
"Whomever. Return with a textbook. I suggest ettiquite. And ethics."  
Amara put on the appearance of chagrin as she bolted for her room.  
Hank was, frankly, not looking forward to the rest of the 'punishment  
detail', in which the new recruit 'volunteers' were now his medical  
assistants in the task of returning Kurt to full health.  
Logan had drawn up a roster and, with the help of Charles, assigned  
the worst tasks to the worst offenders. Hank couldn't help noticing that  
Amara and he were going to be facing each other a *lot*.  
Jean's punishment, for not being vigilant and helping keep disputes  
down and settle arguments, was constant vigilance of the punishment  
detail, as well as Kurt.  
Kurt rolled over and moaned.  
_Oh dear..._  
There was an instant, _Trouble?_ from Jean. She was still monitoring.  
Good.  
_Tell Amara to forget the textbook. We need a basin. Now._  
There was a distant "*EW*!" from down the hall.  
Hank ignored it, moving to Kurt's side so he could closely monitor the  
boy. Pulse was still racing, body still chilled... even though he was  
still unconscious, he was starting to look incredibly uncomfortable with  
himself. A quick peek under the blankets revealed that he was clutching  
at his stomach.  
_Looks like his body's finally going to reject that spoiled food he  
ate last night._  
Kurt moaned again as Amara entered.  
"Position it near his head and be prepared to move it accordingly,"  
Hank instructed.  
"Surely you don't expect *me* to--"  
"Young lady, you will do exactly as I say, when I say it. Or you will  
be doing Logan's morning jerks as *well* as care and maintenance here."  
Amara swallowed nervously before she did as she was told.  
  
Tired. So tired.  
Whole body hurts.  
I'm gonna be sick.  
Don't want to move.  
Someone moving me. Herr McCoy?  
"Let it go," advised McCoy. "We're prepared."  
This time, when his stomach convulsed, Kurt didn't fight it. Acid and  
the taste of rot filled his senses. Burned his throat. He wanted to be  
sick again, but there was no more bad food to throw up. Just bile.  
He could feel Hank rubbing his back. He understood about the fur, and  
only kept with the grain.  
So tired.  
"Stupid *peasant*!"  
Amara? Kurt blinked, automatically reaching for a tissue to wipe his  
mouth. "Vas?"  
"You *splashed* me. You *stained* me with your *filth*! You--"  
"Amara!" McCoy stopped her. "Not another word. You know what happens  
if you *irritate* me."  
Surprisingly, the Princess instantly cowed. "Yessir."  
So tired...  
"Try and stay awake," McCoy advised. "I've been informed that  
someone's bringing you sustenance; and you need to take some  
medication."  
Kurt slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and wrapped himself  
in the comforter. He closed his eyes and moaned. His left hock burned,  
so he stretched out the leg. Felt wierd.  
"What day's it?" Kurt managed in a whisper.  
"Saturday the twelfth."  
"Huh... only a week." Katzchen would be coming back from her home,  
today. He hadn't even got her a present. "Amara? I need you to do  
something for me..." she was gone.  
Kurt tried again when she returned. She didn't look too terribly  
pleased about having to catch or clean up puke. "Could you do me a  
favour, Princess? I need you to go out today and get something nice for  
Katzchen. You can have whatever's in my wallet for a budget."  
"I'm booked solid, *peasant*," she snarled, "looking after *you*."  
He sighed. "Oh." Another minute's thought went into, "Jubilee?"  
"She's *also* grounded."  
"Rogue?"  
"Grounded."  
"Rahne?"  
"Grounded."  
"Jean?"  
"Grounded until hades freezes over."  
"Ororo?"  
"Making sure all of us on punishment detail do what we're told. Face  
it, fuzz-butt. Everyone is *booked*."  
"Oh." Kitty would be so sad. She wouldn't even be able to go out and  
go shopping with anyone. Poor Katzchen. She'd be even lonlier than he  
was, and she wasn't used to it. She'd be *miserable*. He felt sorry for  
her.  
Someone threw a box of tissues at his head. Amara.  
"Stop snivelling you stupid peasant!"  
"Amara..." McCoy warned.  
{tap tap tap}  
"Oh joy. It's the *gopher*."  
Jamie crept into the room. "Jean said you were awake?" he said. "And  
she said you'd been sick? So I bought some water as well?"  
"Dankeshoen," Kurt sighed. He took the glass of water and downed it  
quickly. Then he found a nice big bowl of Mama's get-better soup. "Ah,  
*Danke*shoen! Wunderbar..." There were even toast soldiers.  
"Why're you sad?" Jamie asked. "You're not mad at us, are you?"  
People always asked questions like this when one's mouth was full...  
Kurt circled his spoon in the air while he processed his food. "Nein. I  
was just thinking - I didn't get Katzchen a welcome-home gift. What with  
everyone being tied up with - things - I still can't get her one. She'll  
be so depressed..." Kurt stopped further tears from flowing with a  
tissue.  
Amara made a disgusted noise and muttered, "Snivelling peasant..."  
"I could go," said Jamie. "Mr Logan said I gotta do fetching for  
*everyone*... Only - I can't get a ride so I'll have to take my bike.  
That is - if Mr McCoy is okay with it?"  
They both turned to McCoy, who was rolling his eyes. "Fine. You can go  
get a present for Kitty."  
"Take my wallet," said Kurt. "And stay away from the credit cards.  
They're evil."  
"Yay!" Jamie saluted before he grabbed Kurt's wallet and ran for all  
he was worth.  
Kurt went back to the soup with a sigh of relief. Once again, Mama's  
recipe was working its magic on him. He felt better already.  
Not by *much*, but that wasn't the point.  
Sleep overcame him again as soon as he was done. He barely stayed  
awake long enough for the pills and needles. He passed out for good when  
McCoy began unwrapping his hock.  
  
"Like, hel-*LO*!" Kitty listened to her own voice echo in the mansion.  
Something had to be seriously up. _Leave this place for like, one *week*  
and everything like, goes nuts._ She put her bags down in a spot where  
most people wouldn't trip over them and started walking.  
She'd thought that Kurt would have mugged her by now. Heck, she  
halfway expected him to mug her before her taxi had come to a complete  
stop. He had this way of wriggling through windows...  
Kitty's train of thought was interrupted by the spectacle of Ray and  
Roberto moving an enormous stuffed chair upstairs. It was one of the  
ones with so much implied comfiness that most were afraid to sit in it  
for fear of getting lost in its folds.  
Judging by the cursing that they were both doing, they weren't moving  
it voluntarily.  
"Like, what is going *on*?" Kitty asked.  
"Punishment detail," grunted Ray.  
Roberto had the heavy end, but that didn't seem to be bothering him.  
"Pretty much everyone is grounded for the duration. Except Kurt. He's  
the one we kinda hurt."  
Kitty followed them. "*Kinda* hurt?" she asked.  
"It's - sort of a long story."  
"We screwed up," said Ray. "Kurt covered it over by taking the blame.  
Repeat a few times."  
"A few dozen, *dozen* times..." said Roberto. "Logan was *pissed* at  
him."  
Kitty felt her heart leap. "Like, is he like, okay?"  
"He's alive," said Ray. "Just."  
Kitty raced ahead to Kurt's room, and didn't even bother knocking. She  
found him swaddled in a comforter, just about every inch of him covered  
up. Except his face and his left hock, which Hank was unwrapping.  
"Katzchen," he croaked. The light that was usually in his eyes was  
barely a tiny sparkle.  
"OmyGod; are you like, okay?"  
"Ja. Now *you're* here."  
"Like, what *happened* to you."  
"I found a deer trap," Kurt sighed. He looked sleepy, yet was  
incredibly haggard. "Herr McCoy said it was too small to be a bear  
trap."  
"In your condition, a bear trap would have likely sliced your foot  
off."  
Kitty was on Kurt in and instant, holding him close to her.  
"OmyGod..."  
"*Please* don't jounce him," said Hank. "This is delicate work, here."  
Kitty had to look. "*EW*!" She instantly turned away. "How'd you let  
this like, happen to you?"  
"I was lonely," he said. "Nobody wanted to talk to me."  
Ray and Roberto struggled inside with the chair. They didn't look too  
pleased about recent events.  
"So you like, took all the blame so they'd like, *like* you?"  
"Ja."  
Kitty kissed his forehead. "Silly Elf. All you had to do was like,  
wait until I like, came back."  
"But it was so long," he murmured.  
Amara entered with a tray of bandages and surgical supplies. "I see  
the peasant is still pathetic," she said. "Doubly so now that 'Katzchen'  
has come home."  
"Amara. Remember what I told you?"  
"Yes, yes, 'If you can't say anything nice' and all that, but this  
country has freedom of speech--"  
"Oh, no," murmured Mr McCoy.  
"--I'm perfectly within my rights to say *anything* I please."  
"Likewise, *we're* like, perfectly within *our* rights to like, think  
what we like about what you like, *say*," said Kitty. "No wonder nobody  
like, *likes* you."  
"Says the girl who's wallowing in the same gutter as that stupid,  
filthy peasant," said Amara.  
"When you're *quite* done," said Mr McCoy. "Kurt's bandages have  
leaked and we need some new linnen. As soon as we've moved him, you can  
change his sheets."  
"Rrrr," said Amara.  
"The worse you are, the worse it's gonna get," said Roberto on his way  
out.  
"Yeah," said Ray. "Eat shit and smile."  
"...d'eewwww..." Amara made a face.  
  
Kurt knew he was bad when he saw Kitty's reactions. Herr "Call me  
Hank" McCoy had a level of schooled neautrality that didn't give Kurt a  
clue. The others were too ashamed to look directly at him; except Jamie,  
who repeatedly focussed on just his face.  
Kitty's face sort of squinched up when Hank unwrapped Kurt from his  
mess of blankets. A lot of them had been bled on.  
"Let me guess," he said after Hank had settled him into the comfy  
chair. "I look like hell."  
Kitty nodded. She was biting her lip. "You're like, *way* too thin..."  
Kurt had to smile. "Ha. I'm the one usually telling *you* that." He  
huddled up in his place and shivered.  
Kitty moved in beside him and wrapped her arms around him. She was  
treating him as if she were afraid he would break.  
He *must* look like hell.  
He snuggled up against her as much as he could. "You're warm," he  
sighed. Then, because he really couldn't help himself, he sniffed. "You  
smell nice."  
"Medication," said Hank, handing him five pills and a glass of water.  
Kurt made a face, but took them one by one. There were another five to  
take after meals plus needles in his leg plus something else that always  
made him sleepy and foggy. All he could remember of it was the colour  
orange.  
"Like, *whoah*... That's like, a *heap* of antibiotics."  
"Sorry," he said, almost on automatic. "Herr McCoy--"  
"*Please* call me Hank..."  
"--says that with my metabolism, any infection's always trouble. All  
these pills are just to help boost the effectiveness of the shots."  
"You take shots *too*?"   
He flinched at the loud noise. "Sorry. 'S my metabolism." He put the  
empty glass down and meekly accepted a small bowl of Mama's get-better  
soup. Hank said he needed the calories. His body had been thrown off  
wanting food by the meds. He made himself eat. It was what They wanted,  
at the moment. Doing what They wanted was less trouble than fighting.  
Fighting got more pain.  
The soup warmed him. Just like Kitty did. The pills made him drowsy  
and disenclined to move. Hank said that was a good thing, what with his  
weight so low.  
"I couldn't go out and get a welcome-home gift for you," he said.  
"Oh, Kurt, you didn't have to. I like, understand."  
"It's all right, liebe. I got Jamie to go for me. We'll both be  
surprised when he comes back, ja?"  
Kitty rolled her eyes. "He'll probably like, come back with like,  
three billion Action Guy comics and a tonne of like, candy."  
"That *would* be a surprise," said Kurt, slowing down halfway through  
the soup. His stomach felt like he'd been wrung out like a washcloth. He  
forced himself to clean his plate. "Jamie can be trusted."  
"You must be like, the only one who does."  
Kurt smiled. "I guess that's why he makes sure he's trustworthy for  
me." The soup finished, he worked on the next five pills. Hank seemed  
satisfied for the moment, and he didn't usually give Kurt the needles  
until he was lying down, so he guessed he had a little bit of a  
reprieve. Kurt took the opportunity to heartily embrace Kitty and nuzzle  
at her neck, savouring her perfume.  
"Like, ew," Kitty said, "Who picked out your clothes?"  
"Evan."  
Kitty laughed. "All the proof I needed that he's like, colourblind.  
Orange is like, *so* not your RL colour."  
"You said it looked nice," he murmured. "'S why I bought it."  
"On your hologram - maybe. On *you* - nuh-uh."  
Kurt smiled.  
"What?"  
"I love the way you said that," he purred.  
"Leg," said Hank, prepping a needle.  
Amara was making his bed in the background, grumbling about stupid  
peasants and their propensity for catching filthy diseases. She was not,  
as Ray so charmingly put it, going to 'eat shit and smile'. She *was*,  
however, probably going to wind up on Wolverine's excercise detail,  
regardless.  
Kurt wriggled about until his injured leg was accessable. He didn't  
watch the needles go in. He never did.  
Kitty winced and looked away. "Please be okay," she begged. "Please  
get better?"  
His leg burned with cold fire.  
"Hey, I can't get much worse," he smiled.  
Hank extracted him from their tangle and settled him back into bed.  
There was a little cup of orange fluid by his bedside.  
Kurt obediently drank it and fell asleep before his head landed on his  
pillow.  
  
"High metabolism," said Hank as he tucked Kurt back in. "On the cons  
side, it means I have to be prepared for any negative reactions to new  
medication *before* I administer it. It's also why he has to take such  
massive quantities of antibiotics. For the pros, any medication he  
*does* take works rather quickly; and he's extremely receptive to  
sedatives."  
"You're like, *sedating* him?" Kitty demanded.  
"Not - quite." He tidied up the discarded bits and bobs of a treatment  
session. "That fluid is more of a painkiller. To you or I, beyond mild.  
To Kurt, a guaranteed knock-out. It also has a side-effect of slowing  
his metabolism down for a limited time, giving the antibiotics a  
fighting chance."  
"It's that bad?" Kitty bit her lip.  
Hank told Amara, "Watch him. I want you to check his temperature every  
ten minutes and log it. Any significant change and you let me know  
immediately. Understood?"  
Amara growled under her breath, but said, "Yes, sir."  
Hank then guided Kitty out with a, "We'll be in the upstairs library,  
should you need us."  
Kitty walked beside him in silence until they got to the library. Then  
she said, "He's going to die, isn't he?"  
"To be honest; it's touch and go. It's early days. He's still in the  
danger zone, and I don't like his current weight. The infection's  
stopped *spreading*, but it isn't receeding, either. The worst thing he  
has to combat is the low morale Logan left him with. Until you came by,  
he's just been going through the motions. Doing whatever he was told  
and, I believe, sinking deeper into dispair."  
Kitty had hung her head. One hand went to her eyes and she sniffed.  
"Your presence could be the deciding factor in his recovery."  
"*Me*?" Kitty stared at him. "What can *I* do?"  
"You've already made him talk when no-one else could get him to string  
three words together. I believe you may also be able to hold his  
interest, encourage him to get better, that sort of thing." He patted  
her shoulder. "You're his focus. Something to take his mind off the  
pain. All you have to do is be there and he'll brighten right up."  
  
Jamie sighed as he closed the door. Made it. All the way to the mall.  
*Through* the mall, and back again. All without getting accidentally  
duplicated.  
He raced upstairs, present ready for inspection in his backpack, and  
Kurt's wallet already in hand.  
All he found in Kurt's room was Amara taking Kurt's temperature. She  
didn't look too happy about it.  
Kurt was out cold.  
Jamie put his wallet back where it belonged, and unpacked the ornate  
music box he'd found in Kurt's favourite store, _Trash'N'Treasure_.  
"How was the peasant able to afford *that*?" Amara demanded.  
Jamie stared at her. "You don't *know*?"  
"A Princess does not involve herself in the affairs of peasants," she  
said, jotting down some numbers in a notebook. "Consider yourself my  
Ambassador and get on with it, will you?"  
"Kurt volunteers himself for a lot of chores around here so he can get  
some spending money. The Professor gives him a little more 'cause he  
works so hard for it."  
"And yet *I'm* ruining my cuticles and not earning a penny," she said.  
"That's pure injustice."  
"No," said Jamie. "It's *punishment*. You're supposed to suffer."  
Kitty wandered back into the room with a very thick book. "Hi,  
squirt," she ruffled Jamie's hair. "That what you got for Kurt to get  
for me?"  
Jamie blushed. "Uh. Yeah."  
Kitty grinned. "I'll act surprised."  
  
Kurt was actually staring at Kitty for a while before he realised who  
he was looking at. Wakefullness was easy to obtain. Thought, on the  
other hand, tended to evade him for quite a while.  
It was the orange stuff, he was sure.  
Kitty was here. He smiled. "Guten Tag, liebe."  
She looked up from her book. A picture of beauty, haloed in the light  
from the window. A living angel.  
"Should I like, call Hank? You've been like, out for a while."  
It took Kurt a moment to process that thought. "Dunno," he managed.  
"All I seem t' do is sleep. But it might be bad to be awake."  
"How do you feel?"  
His eyes closed on him and the memory flittered away.  
Kurt opened his eyes. "You're back," he smiled. "Sorry I couldn't  
greet you before. 'S bad form to make the lady wait."  
"Kurt, I came here four hours ago. Hank was like, changing your  
bandages, remember?"  
Kurt tried. He stared blankly into nothingness for a long time.  
Hey, Kitty was here. "Hello."  
"Wow. Hank wasn't kidding when he said that stuff like, played with  
your short-term recall."  
"Makes me tired, too," he said. "*And* it does nasty things to my  
memory."  
Kitty's laugh was forced.  
"Sorry," he said. "Bad joke."  
Kitty got up, and took his temperature with the ear thingy. He was so  
used to its friendly {peep} that it invaded his dreams.  
"Congrats. You're temperature's like, gone up a whole degree."  
Kurt grinned, sitting up carefully. "I'm warmed by your charm," he  
smoothed. "Ah. I see Jamie's retrieved your gift for me. Gut knabe."  
"Yeah," said Kitty. "Little guy knows your tastes."  
"He *should*," said Kurt. "I'm the only one willing to hang around  
when he enters a room."  
Kitty winced. "Like, ouch."  
"Hey, us misfits gotta stick together," Kurt smiled. "If we don't -  
who will?" He discarded the comforter and folded it neatly at the foot  
of his bed. At long last, he was starting to feel warm. He still wasn't  
very hungry, though. "Now, do I get to give you a welcome-back cuddle,  
liebe?"  
"Like, sure."  
  
The next morning, he was fighting a fever.  
He couldn't stand being covered up, but he knew what a mess his body  
was in; so at the same time, he was covering himself up with a sheet and  
panting to cool himself down. He didn't want Kitty to see his ribs. He  
was an awful-looking, bedraggled and half-starved elf - and who knew  
what the fever was doing to his face?  
For all he knew, he was turning purple.  
Kurt looked at his clock. Five-thirty AM. Only an hour before alarms  
would be going off to wake people up. Including his.  
Hank was dozing on the comfy chair, book dangling in one hand.  
Hank had told him to stay in bed, but Kurt's holowatch was on his  
dresser, in its recharger. He had to hide his horrible looks. Kitty  
would be scared. Couldn't scare Katzchen. Bad form.  
Careful of his leg, Kurt slid out of bed and limped towards the  
dresser on three limbs. It still hurt, but he had to do it. For  
Katzchen, his beloved.  
He only made one mistake - trying to stand up when he got to the  
dresser.  
  
Hank's eyes snapped open at the {Whump!} of a body hitting the floor,  
and was even more alarmed at the sight of his patient out of bed.  
"Verdammt..." Kurt muttered. "Didn't get it." He was only wearing his  
pyjama pants. The shirt was a crumpled heap on the floor, and it looked  
like his bedding had been kicked around by a professional.  
It also looked like he'd burst his stitches again.  
Hank picked him up. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Mister Wagner."  
"Wait," Kurt said. "Please. Need m' watch. Please."  
He simply assumed his patented orange potion had done wonders to  
Kurt's powers of recall. "You don't need it, remember? Everyone knows  
you, here."  
"I'm horrible," he said. "Scare Katzchen."  
"No, you're not," Hank sighed, putting the boy back to bed. "You're  
just under the weather. Everyone understands that."  
"Hate me," Kurt mumbled. "Ugly."  
Hank tucked him in. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you otherwise.  
I'll leave that to Kitty."  
"*Nein*... Don' let 'er see. 'M horrible..." He kicked off the sheet.  
"Hot..."  
Worried, Hank took his temperature. He was feverish.  
*Marvy*.  
  
Hot. So hot.  
Travelling weather.  
He should pack, he should move, but They were telling him to stay put.  
Stay still, Kurti, or They'll find you; They'll hurt you.  
Stay still. Swallow this. Be a good boy. Stay awake. Tell Them a  
story. Be good. Above all else be good.  
Katzchen was there. She looked scared. Please don't be scared, Kitty?  
I'm sorry; so sorry for being a demon. God won't let me be anything  
else.  
So hot. Feels like Hell. Maybe I'm already there...  
Katzchen, dear Katzchen. So sad. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you  
cry. Please don't, love. Demons *belong* in Hell.  
I just wish it wasn't so hot.  
Be good, Kurti. You have to be good.  
Don't make a fuss. Don't make waves. Don't attract the wrong  
attention, or They will come.  
They're coming now.  
Can't you hear Them?  
  
{peep}  
"A hundred and twenty-four," Amara reported. She automatically changed  
the ice packs, handing them to Bobby to 'recharge' them quicker. His  
temperature was still climbing.  
Poor dumb peasant.  
He'd sacrificed his health and a goodly portion of his sanity; all for  
what - company?  
Amara personally doubted that his ill-chosen strategy would work. All  
he was currently earning was mild malevolence and pity at best, and out-  
and-out hatred at worst.  
He was only eating because Kitty was there to feed him, and there were  
still hushed murmurs about feeding him through a tube. Amara had no clue  
how that would work, but she guessed in was moderately grousome. Kitty  
had doubled her efforts to tempt the peasant into eating when she heard  
the talk.  
All this effort for a gypsy boy with almost no social graces.  
He stirred from his half slumber, mumbling again.  
_Why, oh *why* do fevers have to come with delerium?_  
"...go, go, *go*," he muttered. "Please go. Get out. Now. Please,  
*They're* coming. Go, get out; before They catch you. Please. Just go. I  
know how to handle Them, I'll be fine..."  
Lovely. Another episode of _They're at the Door_. Either it was one of  
his frequent nightmares, or he was apparently terrified of *Logan*  
peeking in to see if he was getting any better.  
Waitasecond.  
Maybe he *was* terrified.  
After all, *she* was scared of Logan, and he wasn't even getting her  
to do anything. Yet.  
"...Gott, nein; They're here! Hide! Hide now!"  
Amara looked over her shoulder. Logan was leaning on the doorframe,  
looking in. She squared her jaw. The peasant wasn't the only one who  
could play to an audience.  
"Didn't We tell you to stop disturbing Our patient?" she yelled at  
him, firing up for emphasis. "Get out of here! Don't even come *near*  
this room until you're given proper leave! Out!"  
She was sure Logan fled from the shock, rather than her somewhat  
limited authority in this strange land. Amara turned her flame off,  
nodded in satisfaction, and resumed her place as monitor.  
Hank was staring at her in open-mouthed surprise.  
"I *will* apologise in due course," she said. "*After* the peasant has  
recovered enough of his wits to recognise Mr Logan as a friend instead  
of a foe."  
"But you'll be like, grounded for *weeks*," protested Kitty.  
Amara sighed. "The peasant was noble enough to sacrifice his time for  
*my* misdeeds," she said. "The least I can do is repay some of the  
debt." _And besides, my blood is bluer than *he* is. I can't afford to  
be shown up by some bootless wandering vagabond._  
The peasant was staring at her. "Vas?" he said in a small voice. "Wie  
erhielten Sie hier, Mama?"  
Amara shared a shocked look with Kitty.  
Kitty mouthed, "He thinks you're his Mom."  
She mouthed back, "But I hardly know a word of German."  
"Wing it," was the soundless advice from Kitty's lips.  
_Oh great..._ She smoothed the hair from his face and murmured, "Shh,  
liebchen. It's going to be all right. Just be a good boy for the  
doctors."  
Kurt fell back into a fitful slumber, leaving Amara rubbing the memory  
of his fur into her skin. Even soaked in sweat, it was delicious to  
touch. Like a kitten.  
"Back off, Princess," said Kitty. "I like, saw him first." She had a  
very posessive grip around his hand.  
"No contest," said Amara. "My father would *kill* me if he caught me  
dallying with a peasant gypsy boy." She rubbed her fingers again. "He's  
just so - so..."  
"Pet-able?"  
"Yeah."  
  
"Congratulations, Mister Wagner, you've just gone twenty-four hours  
without re-opening your wounds," He re-washed the area, just to be sure.  
All stitches were intact. "Now, if you can go another twenty-four hours  
in the same way, I can actually let you out of bed - provided you keep  
your weight off that leg, of course."  
"Sehr gut," Kurt whispered. He was still quiet, but after the fever  
broke, he was looking a lot better. He'd barely begun to fill out and,  
when Kitty and the others were away at school, he'd occupy his time with  
books and drowsing. He'd brighten up the instant Kitty and the others  
came back, eager for news, homework, any kind of contact from the world  
outside.  
The biggest surprise was that most of the new recruits had dropped  
their animosity. Hank suspected it was because the German boy repeatedly  
and blatantly refused to hold anything resembling a grudge against them,  
even when Ray had tried the "does it hurt when I do this" routine.  
Hank had just ducked out for a call of nature when he heard the aptly-  
codenamed Beserker repeating the question, evidently unsatisfied when  
Kurt refused to complain.  
All he'd got out of it was Kurt's very mild, "Careful. If you bust  
mein stitches I have to stay in bed for another day. And I'm sick of  
staring out the same window..."  
Ray had left him more-or-less alone after that. Rumour had it that he  
was creeped out by Kurt's attitude and wondering exactly what meds he  
was on.  
Kurt had never said a word about it, one way or the other.  
Frankly, Hank was worried. How much could one boy take before he  
snapped? If he hadn't done so already.  
"I'll be glad to get up," said Kurt. "Even if it *is* only for a  
little while."  
"Don't start underestimating yourself yet, Mister Wagner. You  
recuperative abilities are second only to Logan's. With a little luck,  
you should be turning cartwheels in a matter of weeks."  
"...herr Logan..." murmured Kurt. He was looking a little spaced out,  
and a lot afraid. "Ach, nein... I've been missing the punishment detail.  
I have to - I have to do something. Got to make it up to him." He was  
bordering on panic, fumbling in his bedside drawers for who-knew-what.  
"Calm *down*," Hank soothed, gently seperating his hands from the  
search. "You still need to rest, you know."  
"But I've got to *do* something," protested Kurt. "He'll be mad at me.  
Don't want him to be mad at me. Gotta *do* something. Gotta make it  
*right*. I've *got* to."  
_Desperate times call for desperate measures..._ Hank didn't want to  
do this, but Kurt was working himself up into hysteria. He measured out  
a small dose of the orange stuff, hopefully enough to just calm him  
down, and offered it to the boy. "I'm sure Logan would just like you to  
take your medicine, hm?"  
Kurt tipped it into his mouth at approximately light speed. He was  
dozing off inside a minute, and asleep a few seconds after that.  
Hank sighed. "Mental note. Do not mention Logan while Kurt's still in  
a fragile state of mind."  
  
Kurt opened his eyes and froze.  
Logan!  
"I'msorry," he said, voice barely a squeak. "Ididn'tmeantodoit,  
Iswear."  
"Relax, f'r Pete's sake," said Logan. "You're *off* the *hook*."  
"Ja. Ja." Kurt almost dozed back to sleep. "Temporary reprieve due to  
illness."  
"No. You're off the hook for good. On this count, anyway. You were  
innocent, Elf."  
He was feeling very, very dizzy. "Still have things to do," he  
managed. "The run. I didn't finish the run. I've got to--"  
"You've got to nothing," said Logan. "That's an *order*."  
"But--"  
"What'd I tell you 'bout whining?"  
Kurt shut his mouth with an audible click.  
"Now since it seems that everyone here's punishment is makin' sure you  
get better, I thought it was high time I pitched in. And *that* meant  
gettin' you used to me again."  
Kurt still stared at him. "Who are you and what have you done with  
Herr Logan?"  
"Cute. *Real* cute, Elf. I found a book in the library that seems  
right up your alley an' I'm gonna read it to ya. You're gonna like it,  
too. Capiche?"  
Kurt drew the sheet up so that he was more-or-less hiding.  
"Fine. Whatever." He cleared his throat as he turned pages. "Chapter  
One. 'Ship duty!' chortled the ensign four ahead of Miles in line..."  
  
Hank almost had a coronary when he came back from Logan's wild goose  
chase to hear the man himself talking in Kurt's room. But when he  
looked, Logan wasn't shooting his mouth off at a cowering elf. He was  
reading to an eager audience.  
How the *hell* had *that* happened?  
Hank stood, dumbfounded, and took in the scene. Logan *had* to be  
trying a different tack. Either that, or he'd been replaced by a  
shapeshifter who knew next to nothing about him...  
Logan finished reading the segment, put a mark in the book, and said,  
"You're gonna catch flies like that, Poindexter."  
Hank shut his mouth for only a second, because he *really* needed to  
ask, "What the heck are you *doing*?  
"Community service," said Logan. "Everyone else is payin' for what  
they done to the elf. It's high time I did somethin'."  
Hank felt his anger flare up. "Do you *realise* what you could have  
done to him?"  
"It's okay, Herr McCoy," said Kurt. "Herr Logan's not mad any more.  
It's not so bad."  
"I'm still going to look at your stitches," Hank insisted.  
Kurt extracted his left leg rather carefully. "Is Herr Logan still  
allowed to read?"  
_Good grief._ Hank looked at Logan, who'd gone inscrutable. "Far be  
it from me to come between Logan and anything he wants to do..."  
Kurt automatically turned to Logan for a translation.  
"He means I can stay if I wanna, elf."  
Kurt grinned and relaxed. He made no pleas nor entrieties either way,  
but a great deal of his former tension had gone.  
Hank merely went on with the business of inspecting Kurt's troublesome  
leg. Thankfully, he'd avoided doing himself any further damage. Still,  
Hank glared a little at Logan. His plan could have gone wrong in so many  
ways, it was frightening just to think about it.  
"A team ain't a team if folks don't get along; right, Poindexter?"  
Logan said as he watched Hank change dressings.  
"All the same, I object to your methods," Hank told him. "You could  
have handled the situation with far greater delicacy."  
"I don't 'do' delicate," Logan smirked. "I act first and ask questions  
later. The job gets done, and most of the time it gets done right. If I  
screw up, I fix it. End of story."  
"Please don't fight?" said Kurt. "Everything was okay. You didn't need  
to fight..."  
Hank sighed. _Fine._ He could bury the hatchet for Kurt's sake.  
  
It was the first time Ororo herd Kurt's laboured breathing approaching  
the kitchen since his punishment detail. She turned to see him stumping  
along on his good leg and two callipers.  
"I take it I missed breakfast?" he said, making for the nearest chair.  
"Whoah... Deja vu..."  
Ororo laughed. "I prepared a meal just for you. Nothing but comfort-  
food."  
"Fraulein, after Herr Logan's punishment detail, any food is a  
comfort." He busied himself with setting himself up in his chosen seat,  
hanging the callipers off a handy surface. "So what happens to be part  
of this elf's complete breakfast?"  
"I thought we'd start with waffles," she said. "Fresh from the waffle  
iron to you."  
Kurt sniffed in appreciation. "Mmmmm... your famous homemade batter.  
Wunderbar... I bet everyone at school's turning bright green with  
jealousy for the blue guy."  
Ororo gave him a stack of piping-hot waffles. "Your choice of topping;  
maple syrup, golden syrup, jellies, conserves, ice-cream, whipped cream  
and chocolate sauce."  
As predicted by Logan - who'd wisely chosen to take an extended  
constitutional for the duration - Kurt piled up *everything* on his  
waffles and ate the result with every sign of enjoyment.  
Ororo felt more than a little green, herself, as a direct result.  
_Just relax,_ she told herself. _Kurt does this whenever he has to play  
'catch up' with his biological debt. Just keep it plentiful, keep it  
coming, and try to ignore the horrendous things he does to my gourmet-  
class food..._  
Kurt had made a waffle sandwich, which was made slightly more alarming  
by the fact that he barely gave the thing time to drip its contents on  
his plate.  
_Just ignore it,_ she told herself, trying to get her troublesome  
stomach to quit trying a rebellion. _He can't help it, right now. Just  
get on with the flapjacks..._  
*Then* Kurt started talking around mouthfuls and expressions of  
ecstasy.  
{Mmmmf} "Dieses ist--" {uhm} "-wundervoll." {Gronf, mumf} "Kostlich."  
{slurp} "Ich bin--" {smack smack} "-im *Himmel*." {nupnupnupnupnup} "Oh,  
dankeshoen." {Uhrhumnyum} "Bliss..." {bworp} "...bitten Sie Ihre  
Entschuldigung..."  
Ororo absently reached for the Maalox.  
  
Someone had left the Sci-Fi channel on. From the sounds of things,  
Captain Kirk was battling a giant space amoeba. That, and there was some  
static in the service.  
At least, that's what Logan thought, at first.  
He strode into the entertainment room, looking for the remote, only to  
discover it clasped in the hand of an unconscious elf.  
_Good grief, he purrs in his sleep,_ thought Logan as he found out  
where the low rumble was coming from. _That's - almost *cute*._  
Kid was going to pop his stitches if he moved the wrong way, there.  
His bad leg was pressing against the arm rest of the couch. Logan found  
a soft pillow and, moving carefully, slid it under the boy's injured  
foot, creating a little ramp.  
He also told himself that there was no possible way he could be  
feeling parential towards the elf. In a few years, their relationship -  
if Logan let them have one, would be brotherly. And then, almost before  
Logan would know it, the elf would be 'older' than him. Or dead.  
Best not to get close at all; especially since his power made him  
effectively immortal.  
The purr slowed to a halt.  
"I wasn't asleep," Kurt said, eyes flickering open. "I'm watching  
that. Honest. I just - can't keep my eyes open..."  
"I was lettin' ya," Logan told him. "Just watch that foot, Elf. You  
bust them stitches again and Hank'll nail my ass to the wall."  
"You'd get better." Kurt snuggled into the couch. "You always do."  
Logan watched his eyes drift shut again. Always. At sixteen, the kid  
had no concept of just how long 'always' could get. How many friends and  
loved ones 'always' could loose.  
Personally, Logan was sick of getting up again. But the world kept on  
knocking him down. He didn't want to find out how long it would be until  
old age finally caught up with him.  
It had been at least a couple of centuries, by his reckoning. Maybe  
more. Another couple of centuries and maybe he'd start believing he'd  
outlast Death itself.  
He *knew* he was going to outlast the kids.  
That was why he didn't want to get close.  
It would hurt too much.  
  
[AN: Yeah, I wanted a bit of LoganAngst. The story needed it, after what  
he put poor Kurt through :)  
  
And in other news: for a limited time only (between now and when I start  
writing it) I am taking votes for the *next* PWP :) You can vote for:  
  
1) The Best Revenge - Duncan Matthews is not only a jerk, but he's a  
mutant jerk with a *really* sucky (but obvious) power. Lots of Duncan  
and Jean bashing!  
2) Under (Peer) Pressure - Kurt and Oktoberfest really don't mix well.  
Especially when Duncan Matthews gets the elf *drunk*.  
3) Cruel Hearts - Set before "ShadowDance". Kitty forges a bunch of love  
notes to Kurt, sent by 'a secret admirer'. Just how far will her joke  
go?  
4) There's This Girl - A German exchange student called Katja visits  
Bayville and suddenly has 100% of Kurt's attention. Who is she and who  
gets jealous?  
5) Shut up and write more of DPM! *NOW*!  
  
Well, that's pretty much it. Once again, sorry for taking so long.] 


	15. Part the Fifteenth: There's This Girl

Part the Fifteenth: There's This Girl  
  
[Just in case you missed it, the winner is _There's This Girl_. I won't  
divulge the plot (such as it is) here, lest I spoil ya. Enjoy the fun :)  
This is set between season one and two, just FYI]  
  
_Dear Diary,_ Kitty wrote. _You are like, totally not going to believe  
this! All this time, that two-faced, two-timing, lying, cheating, fuzzy,  
blue *RAT*--_ She underlined that last word a few more times. _--had a  
girl at home. I like, just found out today. Like, at afternoon  
assembly..._  
  
Kitty yawned. Same old, same old. Same old assembly. Same old hard  
seats. Same old Kurt, constantly flirting with her. Same old boredom.  
Same old stupid *wait* for the people who'd *called* the assembly to get  
their buttocks into gear. It wasn't as if they like, didn't know when it  
was *on*...  
Even Kurt had fallen into a bored torpor by the time Principal  
Darkholme turned up with another kid in tow.  
_Huh. New student. Like, big whoop._ Kitty yawned again. _Wonder if  
it's a Mutie?_  
She didn't look anything special. Paleish skin. Dark, red-brown hair.  
Slightly shy demeanor. Ordinary taste in clothes. But then, Kitty, in  
her humble opinion, didn't look anything special either.  
"Students, I'd like you to welcome our new exchange student. She's  
from Heirelgart, Germany, and she may need a little help with her  
English at first."  
Beside her, Kurt jolted as if hit with an electric shock.  
"I expect all of you to be *helpful* towards her. She's a long way  
from home. Her name is Katja--"  
"*LIEBCHEN*!" Kurt crowed, already running down to the girl. He  
practically bowled her over in the exhuberant hug he gave her.  
  
_I mean they were like, practically having *SEX* right there in front  
of like, Principal Darkholme and *everyone*. I have never in my *life*  
seen two people like, *hug* that much._  
_It was like, disgusting! And all the time he was here, he was like,  
coming on to *me*! I am like, *so* totally lucky I like, saw him coming  
and like, rejected him at every turn._  
_She's like, a whole year younger than me! Isn't that like, *gross*?  
She's like, *Fourteen*. Ew!_ Kitty underlined that a few dozen times,  
too. _Talk about like, green apples, if you know what I like, mean.  
*EW*! I can't even like, *think* of those two kissing and junk. It's  
like, completely disgusting._  
_I mean, they were like, all *over* each other like a bad rash. He was  
like, Katja this, Katja that; Katja the next answer to freakin' Jesus,  
Mary and *Joseph* if you asked *him*. I mean, *EEEEEWWWWW*!_ Kitty  
underlined that word so often that it took up the next line. _Like, why  
don't they just like, rent a *room*?_  
Kitty sighed, glad to get that much off her chest, and picked up the  
'phone so she could complain to Lance some more.  
But someone was already on.  
"...und *dann* alle diese Frosche hop heraus! Sie konnten screaming  
fur horen *Meilen*!" said the first voice. Kitty recognised it as  
Kurt's.  
"Und jemand anderes war, ja verantwortlich?" said the female on the  
other end who *had* to be Katja.  
"Von *Kurs* jemand anderes war verantwortlich! Ich verbreite nie meine  
*besitzen* Geheimnisse..." Kurt laughed.  
"*Hello*," Kitty yelled down the 'phone. "Some other people might like  
to communicate - this *decade*!"  
"Ach, horen auf sie! Sie wurden denken sie besassen das Telefon..."  
"Ja, ist sie wie die." Kurt switched gears and started speaking  
English. "Katzchen, at least give us a few minutes to sign off, okay? We  
haven't seen each other in a while, you know."  
"*RRRRR*!" Kitty slammed the 'phone down and went back to her diary.  
_I can't believe it!_ She wrote. _They're like, totally monopolising  
like, *my* 'phone time. I like, hung up before they could like, start  
*Frenching* each other down the 'phone._  
_*EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW*!!!!_  
_I can *not* believe I like, keep thinking of junk like that. *EW*! I  
mean like, who'd *want* him, anyway? The guy's like, the nearest thing  
to a like, wookie or something._  
_Maybe a muppet._  
Kitty snickered at that last line. Yeah. Kurt Wagner. Walking  
*Muppet*. He could like, get work on Sesame Street or something. Serve  
him right for being such a two-timing little male *slut*.  
  
"Sounds like someone is *jealous*..." Katja cooed in German. "Should  
we be merciful to her and tell her about us?"  
"No..." said Kurt. "Let her stew for a while. It'll be good for her  
soul, I should think."  
"Good for her blood pressure, you mean."  
Kurt laughed. "Oh, you know me. I'm *always* good for blood pressure."  
"So I keep hearing."  
Kitty interrupted again in English. "GET OFF THE 'PHONE!"  
Both of them laughed at her before they said their goodbyes. Katja was  
still laughing when she hung up, facing her exchange-home and all the  
boringly normal things it represented. Explaining the joke to the  
equally boringly normal Smiths would take too long and be way too  
confusing.  
Kurt's little sweetheart was certainly a firebrand. Of course, she'd  
be even more so once she was lead to believe that she and Kurt were  
something *other* than brother and sister.  
From the looks of her face, yesterday, kleine Katzchen was pretty much  
past halfway there already.  
Maybe getting good and jealous would wake her up to herself.  
  
_Dear Diary,_ Kitty wrote. _I can *not* believe it! Kurt's made  
himself like, Katja's buddy-boy. He's like, showing her around Bayville!  
It's like he's suddenly lost what little brains he ever like, *had* and  
like, completely forgotten about the whole hologram thing._  
_We are like, *so* totally lucky she's like *dense* or something and  
doesn't like, notice his fur. I mean, how stupid do you have to be about  
that? He's like, so totally soft and gorgeous._  
_To touch, I mean. Not that I've done that a lot, you know. It's kinda  
like, weird, you know? You don't like, expect a coat of fur on someone.  
Kurt's like, *totally* covered, from what I hear; and he's like *blue*.  
I mean, it's like, really unnatural. But at the same time you like, want  
to find out what he like, feels like._  
_He's soft, like velvet made out of silk or something. It's like, *so*  
totally startling, you know? Every time I feel it I have to jump._  
_I mean, sure, it's like, a little bit gross. I mean - *body* hair!  
Ew! But at the same time, he's like, *so* adorable. You just want to  
keep feeling it. Touching it..._  
Kitty looked at the words on the page. "Like, too much information,  
Pryde."  
_Not that I like, *do* or anything. I mean - body hair! Like, *gross*.  
I only like, touched his face and his hands? For all I know, he's like,  
coarse or something all over the rest of him. Ew._  
_And that *tail*. I mean - *EW*! Major league. He like, handles stuff  
with it and it's like, part of his butt? Talk about like, unhygenic. So  
what if it's prehensile? Anything below the waistline should like, stay  
under cover in *my* humble opinion._  
Kitty giggled. _I just had this like, crazy idea of like, a third  
pant's leg for Kurt's tail. Like, totally strange. But then, like, so's  
Kurt, you know? Maybe I could like, come up with a bunch of tail  
fashions or something. Get that thing covered up and out of sight._  
_Then again, I don't even like, want to *know* about his lying, fuzzy,  
blue butt right now._  
_He and his precious little Katja like, went *out* together. Like, on  
a *date*. Like, arm in arm._  
_They even like, walk in step! It's like - *EEEWWWWW*!! I mean, he is  
like *so* going to be like, totally *down* when she like, sees what he's  
*really* like and like, runs screaming. I *so* totally want to be there  
when it happens._  
_I can like, see it now. She'll be like, *way* scared and we'll like,  
*NEVER* see her again, and Kurt'll be all like, depressed and junk. And  
then, when he's like, over it, everything will be like, back the way  
it's like, *supposed* to be? You know, with him like, being nice to me  
and everything?_  
_Not that I like, *like* him being in my face 24/7. I mean - he's  
gross! He like, eats like a *horse* and like, makes these like, *gross*  
sandwiches. It's like someone showed him a PBJ and a BLT and he like,  
decided to like, *mix* the two. *EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW*!!!_  
_And the *way* he like, eats them. You'd like, think he was like,  
starving or something. I mean, he like, eats his own weight at each  
*meal* or something like that. He shouldn't like, *starve* or anything.  
He's just like, *so* *GROSS*..._  
_...he hasn't been eating here much, since *Katja* came._  
_He's like, always going somewhere with her. They're like, joined at  
the hip or something._  
_I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him I *hate* him!!!!!_  
Kitty threw her diary across the room. Stupid Katja. She didn't even  
know her last name, but she *knew* she was stupid.  
Katja was fourteen. *Fourteen*!. A whole year younger and already a  
size bigger than Kitty. Huge! It was amazing she didn't vanish under  
rolls of fat or something.  
Then again, maybe Kurt had a thing for big girls.  
_EW!_ Kitty made a face. It was *way* more likely that Katja was  
putting out. The little slut.  
"I hate you, Katja," she whispered, setting up a pillow. "This is you.  
And I hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit,  
"hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate," hit, "hate,"  
hit, "*HATE* you! You stupid fat *cow*!" Punch, punch, pummel, hit, hit,  
hit, *thump*.  
"I'm thinking this may be a bad time to ask if you've seen my novel?"  
said Kurt. He was standing in the doorway and looking slightly horrified  
at the sight of her punching the heck out of her pillow.  
Kitty went beetroot red slightly before she fell right through the  
floor. She landed right in Scott's lap, interrupting something between  
him and Jean. Mortified beyond belief, Kitty fled at warp speed.  
It was all stupid Katja's fault!  
  
_Dear Diary,_ Kitty wrote. _THE ELF MUST *DIE*!!!!!_  
_ I mean, he and stupid fat Katja are like, *ALWAYS* together. He's  
supposed to be like, helping her with her English (which *SUCKS*!) but  
instead they like, spend all their time like, chatting in German  
together. It's like he wants her to fail or something._  
_*Jean* has to be all nice to her and junk. I hate her! I hate them  
both! I mean, *everyone* is like, totally sucking up to her and being  
all like, "Any friend of Kurt's..." and like *totally* taking her side  
all the time._  
_And get this - she's two-timing *Kurt*! Every time she like, sees a  
guy who's like, halfway decent? She like, *has* to flirt with him._  
_At least they've got something in common._  
_But she like, has *NO* taste. I mean, I caught her flirting with  
*Pietro*, of all people..._  
  
"Gooooooood afternoon, lovely lady," a voice carolled.  
Katja turned to face a whip-thin albino boy wearing impeccable clothes  
and a grin fit to split his face. She knew him by reputation, but  
pretended ignorance of his existance. "And you are?"  
"Pietro Maximov, at your service," he bowed. "And what *I'd* like to  
know is why you're wasting your time with fu-- er. With Wagner when you  
could be having the time of your life with *anyone* else in this entire  
school."  
Katja smiled. It was hard not to. "Ah, but I know not *anyone* else in  
this school as well as I know Kurt." Always a good defence.  
"That's why you gotta branch out. Make new friends. Otherwise you'll  
be stuck with that loser for the rest of your life."  
Now, a grin. "How do you not know I am not already -er- 'stuck', as  
you say, with him?"  
Pietro's face fell. "Please tell me you're not together."  
Katja crossed her fingers and showed them to him. "We are like this."  
She closed her locker door, and there was Kurt, looking all -  
protective.  
"Is this --" pause, sneer, "--gentleman - bothering you, Schatz?"  
"Nein, not much." Inwardly, she sighed. Any male that turned up on her  
prospective-husband radar - and quite a few that didn't - had to run the  
gauntlet of her brother, her father, her uncles, and cousins. As well as  
a few other males, like Kurt's Centaur friend, Andrei, who just adopted  
her. "I was just telling him how close you and I are."  
Kurt switched smoothly into their local dialect. "[Not *too* much, I  
hope.]"  
Ah, yes. The little joke on Kleine Katzchen. Katja spotted the lady  
herself across the hall, pretending to look for something in her locker.  
She'd been 'looking' for the past five minutes with increasing antipathy  
towards Katja.  
"[No, not too much. I know the trick we're playing on your little  
Kitten can't afford anyone knowing about our *real* relationship.]"  
Kurt chuckled. "[Oh dear. When should we tell her, do you think?]" He,  
too, had spotted Kitty and took Katja up in a hug.  
"[Sometime after the slumber party at that Institute of yours, yes?  
It'll make things easier on your mutant friends, too.]"  
"[There's a slumber party? *How*?]"  
Katja grinned. "[Oh, *all* us ladies can communicate telepathically.  
Didn't you know that?]"  
"[Ha! You arrange things while you take trips to the privy.]"  
"[Well, yeah. That too.]" Katja smirked as Kitty gave up 'looking' in  
her locker and stormed off to her next class. "[Everyone's invited,  
though I think your kitten may be having a headache.]"  
"[Cruel, cruel, love. How did I get to have you for a sister?]"  
"[You see, when two people love each other *very* much...]"  
Kurt laughed.  
  
_...it wouldn't surprise me at all if they were like, *sleeping*  
together. Though it *would* be like, totally disgusting._  
Kitty stared at her own words. Would it *really* be that disgusting to  
hold Kurt close? Even if his fur *was* a little coarse. Not that she  
really knew.  
She bet *Katja* knew. Stupid, size twelve Katja with her stupid,  
perfect olive skin and her stupid, nearly-auburn hair that looked  
*perfect* and fell in soft curls that Kitty would have been glad to die  
for. Stupid, perfect her!  
No wonder Kurt loved her. She was everything Kitty wasn't. Hell, she  
probably even knew how to follow a recipe without having it turn out -  
well - *yuck*.  
Stupid Katja! Who like, made friends so totally easily and was coming  
over tonight for movies an popcorn and makeup and giggling and trying on  
each other's stuff and - Kitty had no doubt about this - looking  
*fabulous* in everything.  
Kitty sighed. She was such a total dweeb and she knew it. Even if she  
was given like, a complete makeover and a new look; Kitty would still be  
a dweeb.  
A skinny little dweeb in a new look and makeup.  
She cried into her pillow, mostly beause she couldn't really stay mad  
at Katja.  
She was like, so totally *nice*...  
"There you are, Katzchen," Katja was hanging on the doorframe and  
smiling at her. "Everyone is in the theatre, camping. Are you coming  
down?"  
_My head hurts._  
  
The guys were sequestered to another area of the mansion, where they  
played death-matches on the console until Logan hussled them all off to  
bed.  
The girls, on the other hand, camped in the theatre and watched chick  
flicks whilst gorging themselves on popcorn, candy and pizza. The  
makeovers mostly made them laugh, especially Kitty's 'Goth Look' versus  
Rogue's 'Prep'.  
They played 'truth or dare' amid much squealing and giggling, they  
rated hunks, ate *far* too much pizza, and stayed up until the wee small  
hours of the morning.  
  
Kitty woke up first, or so she thought, until she realised Katja's  
sleeping bag was also empty. Yawning, she shuffled into the kitchen to  
see if the young German girl was there.  
No sign of any teenager passing since they went to sleep.  
Kitty scrubbed her eyes and headed towards the nearest toilet, which  
was upstairs.  
Kurt's door, first in the hall, was ajar.  
He may not have been *born* in a tent, but he certainly acted like it,  
sometimes.  
"Silly Elf," Kitty mumbled. She reached for the door, intending to  
close it properly, but she stopped to kind of stare at him.  
His tail had fallen loose of the covers, and twitched against the  
thick pile. His arm draped over a second form in his bed.  
_That little *bitch*!_ Kitty raced downstairs, phasing lest she make  
any noise, and bolted for the theatre. "*Jean*!" She hissed. "Wake up! I  
like, totally need one of your cameras. *NOW*."  
"Wstfgl?" Jean bleared into wakefulness. "Whutizit? Someone drooling?"  
"No, it's like better. Worse. I don't know. Guess where *Katja* is?"  
Jean yawned. "If this isn't a dream, I'm gonna kill you, Pryde... It's--"   
she checked her watch, "--too early."  
"Katja went and snuck into Kurt's bedroom," Kitty whispered. "They  
like, totally slept together."  
"*WHAT*?!" *That* woke her up.  
"Mrf?"  
"Wfl?"  
"Shutupyouguys, I'mtryin'tosleep..."  
"If it ain't noon, you're doomed."  
...as well as a few others.  
"She's still there, like, *in* Kurt's bed. They like, *totally* slept  
together, I *know* it. That's why I like, need your camera."  
"Camera?" Jean echoed. "I don't quite get this..."  
"Like, *duh*... *Evidence*? Blackmail? Ringing any bells, yet?"  
Rogue stirred from her cocoon to say, "If you keep talkin' so loud,  
I'll shove all of your bells where the sun don't shine."  
Jean stumbled into a semblance of cogniscance. "Okay, okay, okay," she  
murmured. "It's not as if Logan isn't going to skin them both, anyway."  
"So what? I wanna like, treasure the moment, okay?"  
"Mmmmmrrrrgh..." said Jean.  
"Come *on*," Kitty hissed, holding her arm. "You fly, I phase. We  
like, totally can't loose."  
  
{Click! Whrrrrrrr... Click! Whrrrrrrr... Click! Whrrrrrrr...}  
"HA!" Kitty's triumphant shout startled Kurt awake. "Like, totally  
caught in the act! You two are like, *completely* busted!"  
"...mmnh?" he said. "Vas? What are you talking about?"  
Kitty was a vision of victory in pink flannel bunny-print jammies. She  
still had bed-hair.   
Kurt thought she was still the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.  
"What?" said Jean. "You thought your girlfriend would sneak back to  
the slumber party, afterwards?"  
_What the--?_ Kurt chased the sleep from his eyes. "I don't have a--"  
he bumped the still unconscious form of Katja. _*OH*..._ He shook her.  
"Liebe. Atchung..."  
"Mmm? Vas ist der Stoff?" Katja chased the hair out of her eyes and  
took in the scene. She switched to Romani. "[Do they still think we're--]"  
"[Yep.]"  
In spite of herself, she giggled. "[Oh dear.]"  
Logan appeared out of nowhere, took in the scene, and growled. {Snikt}  
"There'd better be a good explanation for this."  
Katja was laughing her heart out.  
Kurt sighed. "Before you leap to any conclusions, Herr Logan, allow me  
to show you something."  
"It better not be a rubber," he growled.  
"IknewitIknewitIknewit!" Kitty squealed. "They *were* like, totally  
sleeping together!"  
"It's nothing new," said Katja, her 'new-to-English' act vanished like  
morning mist. "Kurti and I have been sharing beds since I was two."  
Kurt found his camera and took a shot of their faces before he found  
what he was looking for. "We shared *everything*," said Kurt, flipping  
pages. He offered the book to Logan. "See? There's Katja and I sharing a  
bathtub with meine other two schwesters."  
"You swore you'd burn that one," said Katja. She emerged from the bed,  
fully clothed, and proceeded to borrow one of Opa's brushes with all the  
aplomb of someone who had every right to do so.  
Kitty still hadn't shut her mouth.  
"*Other* two?" said Jean, a little shell-shocked. She peeked into the  
album. "Aaaaaaawww... Weren't you *cute*?"  
Logan was snickering. "Half-pint," he said, "Meet Katja *Wagner*. The  
Elf's *sister*."  
"Flockig-blau and I go *way* back," she said and showed her crossed  
fingers. "We're like *this*."  
Kitty was still staring at her. "You mean - you and he--? You mean you  
aren't--?" she still hadn't quite grasp the situation. "Then *why* did  
you like, sneak into his *room*?"  
"He's *warm*, Katzchen," she said. "I was cold."  
"She's a living ice cube," said Kurt. "Katja could give *Bobby* a run  
for his money."  
Kitty went from zero to appreciable rage in the space of a few  
seconds, and Kurt spent valuable head start time admiring the wonderful  
shade of pink her face went.  
"Aaaawwwwww..." said Jean, looking at more photos. "They're using him  
like a pillow..."  
Kitty launched herself at Kurt and shrieked,  
"*DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*!" at the top of  
her lungs.  
"Herr Flockig, you have *such* a way with the ladies," cooed Katja.  
"Admirable form, Katzchen, but you need a better grip on that pillow."  
"(Oof!) Schwesters..." said Kurt, barely fending Kitty off with his  
own pillow. "Absolutely (oof!) no help at (*ow*!) all..."  
  
_Dear Diary,_ Kitty wrote, _I hate him! I hate her! I *hate* him! I  
*hate* her! I hate *him*! I *HATE* HIM!_ She underlined that a few dozen  
times. _All this time, they were like, playing this stupid joke on me.  
Making me think they were like, lovers._  
_I am such a dope. I fell for it, too._ 


End file.
